Friday, 9 October 2015


 Between whatever else happens,
we might be straying across
what’s marked out – the given
delineation of boundaries.

Up in the woods there,
where trackways are signed
and somehow we’re brought out
to a picnic area’s designated space,
we’re talking too of dens
and interlaced branches,
traces of those who’ve been
and gone before – and, of course,
those other distant woods.

Through the trees,
some light effect suggests
a geography of displacement.
Mushrooms grow out
of punk timber like antennae

and we’re coming down
through leaf matter, jutting stones
to the river where, without
so much as a thought,
the path becomes
a path that’s leading home.

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