The seam runs through the field, beneath
The wall, beneath the house, beneath
The fear of darkness and of loss.
The seam is deep and rich and wide.
Around the Earth, throughout our time
The seam is dredged and scraped and blown.
The fires it lights explode the night.
The dressing floors are never still.
Beneath the moor the tunnelling spins,
Beneath the wilds made wilder still,
Beneath the need to feed the fires,
The need to feed the landlord’s will.
It merges, weights and drags us down,
Malformed we’re trapped: part beast, part god.