Bridport & East Middlebury


We’ve already crossed a few.

From forest, 
field and barn, 
the patch of flax,
the cow, the sheep, 
the church and village store
we moved on to a place of more and more,
where water drove hard through a gorge of stones
to turn the wheels that broke the iron hills with smoke.

Everything seemed possible then,
with space beneath our roof for even more.

Now we sit in the village square.
We stare at the handbuilt barn.
We stand beside the ruins of the mills 
and take photos with our phones.
We wonder how and why
and what they’d make of us.

And are we standing in or out?
And what now can we do?
What holds us in, what keeps us back?
What must we keep, and what let go? 


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