I know I've posted this before, but it is nowhere to be found on my blog. It must have vanished in the great meltdown, in which case few will have seen it. If you are one who did read it, my apologies for the repeat.
Bedraggled on the ground,
I stooped to raise it up,
its pointed end towards the sky,
a Gothic arch of tracery,
a filigree of life. Those tiny ribs
were more than that: fine pipeworks
and retorts, condensers and the like.
No, not a filigree, a factory.
End product: life.
It's what we've done
that did not show, that lies
invisible: we've taken
and one by one
we've made them our laboratories.
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