Thin shadows of branches at night
along the lamplit stones of many’s going
interweave a thing of spiderways,
a fence of chance my blind bumblefeet
But I noticed where you stood,
O brambly light-mauve poised-in-stillness tree.
So I walked, so I walked
as I always do, unthinking
over the stones of town, into a pub
where voices talk, clocks tick, the radio blares
extravagant, to-be-forgotten things.
O you my darling, standing in my mind
not brambles, but a soft dark woman-form
natural in the evening, standing there
as I clatter and walk, bang and clatter and walk –
O you whose silent love I seek to answer,
tangle with me who have seen you,
and let your shadow grace my footsteps.
I will not hurt you.