(after Pete Morgan’s poem “The Cutty Sark”)

She has always stood
above Flims.

Above and between
this valley and the next –
a line between north and south.
The divide
on the map of Europe
where even Rome failed to unite.

She stands above –
a cut above.

she stands. Rock-bottom.
her roots remain –
a trunk remains
where enough fell off to stop a river.

She halted Father Rhine
with her left-overs.
The clear-cut beauty of her face
has been mutilated:
guyropes for tourist mountain paths
like cicatrices.

Our tied up country
strains and fails to find leverage.

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