Flies stitch unseen
across the valley,
caught when they break
below the wall
stacked solid
and unalterable now,
though chiselling once
shaped each rough block.
On through the county
with others at angles
not quite square,
moulded by hillside and moor,
it moves a path past
all still builders.
Bees droop along its length,
a jet shatters overhead:
nipped grass flakes here,
stone chocks;
stolid.
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