Development is a euphemism
and the land so dear
especially here
and there
where the dictates
of the charity commission
require us to sell.
Money disappears into the land
like smoke into the sky
like sand into a lake.
“The congregation has sunk”
and “We had to make this hard decision”
and “This used to be a pub”
and “Where are you from?”
and “That’s been closed for years”
and “I don’t begrudge you, you know?”
And “It is
what it is,”
this borrowed condition
this slow violence.