alice oswald

Time Poem

now the sound of the trees is
worldwide
and I'm still here
staring when I should be bathing
children.
it's late, the bike's asleep on its feet.
the fields hang to the sun by
slackened lines...
when the grass breathes, things fall.
I saw
the luminous underneath of a moth.
and a blackbird
mouth to the glow of the hour in
hieroglyphics.
who left the light on the step?
pause
what is the pace of a glance?
the man at the wheel signs his speed
on the ringroad
right here in my reach, time is as
thick as stone
and as thin as a flying strand
it's night and somebody's
pushing his mower home
to the moon