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
kick through.
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.

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