Even here, miles off the beaten track
I can hear the drone of the highway
Somewhere over the hill
The stubble is sharp, and glossy
Soil redder than brown
A five-bar gate, half off the hinge
Dykes dry, also somewhat overgrown
All this space
Not a single house
Or another person
I am warm
Sunlight allows me
To play with shadows
Other sounds are to be heard here
Once I let the road noise
Become no more than the back story
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