Pantyspydded:  Walk 10
a poem in draft

 

...back

 

IV.
I was on one side
of a fence of wooden rods
you had yet to cross.
My boots damp from
grass, streams and now
freckled with mud
from the recent rain.
Clouds moved briskly, revealing
a refreshed sky.
A line of trees reacted
with shudders, releasing
droplets of rain water
from broad, veined leaves.

I take all this in, soaking
it, though I have no root.
I am untethered. You say I am
on the wrong side of this fence.
Your jeans, darkened and
heavy with rain water, do
not move in the breeze.
I noticed this and the
way your brow crammed
together with frustration
over your pleading eyes.

We are on opposite sides here
and what you want I do not have.
We share instead this pause, this fence,
the company of sheep-
I think to tell you: none of this
is on the map; don't suspend your life
with the need for assurance.
Swinging your legs over-right
or wrong, you choose
an unmarked course,
you choose to come to me,
even to be wrong with me,
on a trail through fields,
high ridges and
past ruins in a country
we have only just discovered.

Downhill, the homes of the village
are scattered before us, introducing
white, brown and orange rooftops
to the palette, the color
of stones as we cross
the bridge over Afon Dyfi.

continue...