Those who went ahead
of us in the forest
bent the early trees
so that they grew to signals
the trail was not
among the trees but
the trees
and there are some who have dreams
of birds flying in the shapes
of letters; the sky's
codes;
and dream also
the significance of numbers (count
petals of certain flowers)
In the morning I advance
through the doorway; the sun
on the bark, the inter-
twisted branches, here
a blue movement in the leaves, dispersed
calls/ no trails; rocks
and grey tufts of moss
The petals of the fire-
weed fall where they fall
I am watched like an invader
who knows hostility but
not where
The day shrinks back from me
When will be
that union and each
thing (bits
of surface broken by my foot
step) will without moving move
around me
into its place
The Mower
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.
I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:
Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.
I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:
Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
