/ A long peninsula of solid rock,
/ upholstered every year in threadbare green.
/ Stones everywhere, ambiguous and burgeoning.
/ In Sanna ramparts of them
There’s a whole country at the foot of the stone
/ If you care to look
/ These are the stones we have instead…
Birches on the quarry floor, slim,
/ half naked, shadow the creviced rock
/ with black lines like flowing ink.
/ Casual boulders loll at their…