Hauling Job Sturge's House
The structure loosed from its foundation stones,
roped and pulleyed to an anchor-point
away from the crumbling cliffside – we pull.
From here to the still centre of the earth,
three thousand nine hundred and sixty-three
miles, and all that volume of igneous,
metamorphic, sedimentary rock,
that mantle of iron magma, that fist
of molten ore – against all that, we pull.
The cables stretch and groan, serrating our
resolve, our heaving shoulders, blistered hands,
in a tug-of-war against gravity –
Until we feel it give, until the earth
falters, lets slip its tether – and we pull.