There are those who say the art can’t be taught;
you’re born with it or not, like second sight
or a twin clutching your heel. I doubt that’s true
for I have seen walls where no wall should be
halfway up Whernside or sinking into peat;
and I think these are just apprentice work,
twilight zones where craft and maker meet,
uneven lines straggling towards the sea.
A well-made wall still makes me think of you
and how we fit together through the night,
the herring fleet brought safely into port.