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OFFLEY COPSE, NOVEMBER 11th 1918
(Aubers Ridge, May 9th 1915)
Your path leads you between
great-headed trees – the beeches,
muscle-bound and wearing their may
like burly brides; the ash, rattling
his blades; horse chestnut burning
stacked candles in the face of day.
The bright rain tricks the air into
long strings of light whose lattice
tracks you up to the treeline. Deeper
in the copse blue smoke blows: dim
fumes in a bright season, a rush
of bells whispering, where you walk,
ankle-high. Trodden down, the early ferns,
rise again behind you. Bramble
gateways tugged apart re-form, slow-
motion twisting back in toothy coils.
And now, here, where midnight moss made
a bed for the two of you, you lie alone
and listen for the guns that boomed
somewhere north of Aubers Ridge.
(Aubers Ridge, May 9th 1915)
Your path leads you between
great-headed trees – the beeches,
muscle-bound and wearing their may
like burly brides; the ash, rattling
his blades; horse chestnut burning
stacked candles in the face of day.
The bright rain tricks the air into
long strings of light whose lattice
tracks you up to the treeline. Deeper
in the copse blue smoke blows: dim
fumes in a bright season, a rush
of bells whispering, where you walk,
ankle-high. Trodden down, the early ferns,
rise again behind you. Bramble
gateways tugged apart re-form, slow-
motion twisting back in toothy coils.
And now, here, where midnight moss made
a bed for the two of you, you lie alone
and listen for the guns that boomed
somewhere north of Aubers Ridge.
pic 1: http://flickr.com/photos/dave_davies/1063389461/
