I was thinking of visiting you
By now you will be mystified by leaves
Haunted by squirrels and small slow maggots
Fingering and boring into the sainted bark.
I feel you in the sunset when the shadows
Skitter over my hands and upturned face.
In the night I hear your low thrumming breath
The way of sleeping which is simply rusting
Composting dreams into mole hills.
Bracken sprays its spores across the humus
The deer rise astonished
Their bright muzzles wet with nuzzling
The mush of viridian and sap green grass.
I truly think the forest took you.
I swallow the juice-truth and it neither comforts
Nor disturbs; as in a deep wisdom
Or a mournful song, or the peet-peet
Of the little owls, or the spread of light
From a lit orb; I could go on
Weeping into the chasms of my heart
Stumbling along word paths
Searching in all the godly places-
The stupid lost loving little life of a beetle.
Veronica Aldous all rights reserved 2018.
Picture shows detail of a winter scene by the artists and poet