‘Do you know what they do as a punishment around here? They make you clean the mountains—absolutely clean.’
The rain, like swearing,
turns the air blue.
Thorn-trees’ barbedwire branches .
Mud-loaded sheep, dog-faced,
raincloud bodied.
Derwent Water's million-pixel
shawl pelt bristles with
a million upstanding hairs.
The trees are halfway through
pulling their tentacles from the soil
and wrigglingly wandering off.
The rain is corpsewash cold.
Those ravens look ravenous.
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