Metal giants stand,

Lined across the land, cables

In each hand. Humming.

Miles from pities and

Frowns he knows, he finds country

Smiles and bright hellos.

Campsite. Big snag. Scott

Forgot his sleeping bag. Claire's

There and keen to share.

See how the land lies,

Dusk dims faint skies, grey lines fade

Fast, light lost at last.

You coarse fellow, gorse,

Yellow, sticking round, where no

Prim rose would be found.

His river has flowed

But his bird has flown: he’s shown

He’s an anglophone.