Ruins close in
as you reach the
arch,
blocking its hold
to the upper wall.
You nod at the
prospect
of suburbs and
river.
“Not the best view,”
you say.
“Not worth the
effort.”
Watched swans plunge
to the loch below,
a concord of flight
in their search for
food
as we track back
the way we have
come.
The path tips to a
gully,
mud slips under my feet
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