<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Watson on Dartmoor<\/strong><\/p>\n I first saw it in sun, edged with yellow and yet, and yet something just out of tune It\u2019s not of the earth, the moor. You drive the wet air choked me. The light walked backwards Holmes would love this<\/em>, I thought. The touch of drama.<\/em> Well, you know the rest. But the moor, that space, of this world. How its clouds were close enough to elude my faltering translation.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Clarissa Aykroyd<\/strong> grew up in Victoria, Canada. She has lived in Dublin and now lives in London. Her work has appeared in The Island Review, The Missing Slate<\/em>\u00a0and Lighthouse,<\/em> among others. She was one of Eyewear Publishing’s Best New British and Irish Poets 2016<\/em> and is a Pushcart Prize nominee. Her blog is www.thestoneandthestar.blogspot.co.uk<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Watson on Dartmoor I first saw it in sun, edged with yellow like the dragged note of a violin: and yet, and yet something just out of tune like the faintest rot beneath the sweetness. It\u2019s not of the earth, the moor. You drive as though ascending \u2013 to hell; mist rolled […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13724","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13724","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13724"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13724\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14397,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13724\/revisions\/14397"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13724"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13724"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13724"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nlike the dragged note of a violin:<\/p>\n
\nlike the faintest rot beneath the sweetness.<\/p>\n
\nas though ascending \u2013 to hell; mist rolled in,<\/p>\n
\nand vanished. The grey tors grinned down on us.<\/p>\n
\nAnd then came the gates of Baskerville Hall.<\/p>\n
\nthat\u2019s what I can\u2019t explain. How it was not<\/p>\n
\nto touch, and yet its skies were high enough<\/p>\n