I stood aside to let the wood flow out.
Along legged girl in jeans walked past me,
leaves wove in her hair, brown curved beech leaves
that cupped the summer in each tender fold.
Her hair swung round her mouth,
her cold bleached skin drawn back
as if in fear of frost -
a little warmth the thin bedraggled tails
of hair.
Her eyes clinched damp and brown,
water welling through broken cat-ice,
the dark stone sinking in the envelope
of knowing.
Keen wind blew back the limp dark hair
and she strode like a mountain mare,
her long mane whipping in the cold aching gust
of winter.
I stood for a long time while the leaves
followed her, spinning and dancing
to a soundless round.
As she topped the hill, the wind rose up
and showered the leaves,
and she became a walking tree, her arms outstretched
against the sun.
I turned to walk into the wood,
but saw no path among the
dead branches.
Something cold brushed past me
through the trees.
I stood aside to let the wind flow in.