Merlin Woods

I pondered long

this strange phenomenon

that Phoebe, fleet of foot

and strong as fawn

when young should stretch herself

at night on Grecian mountains

daring the satyrs to awake from caves

and throw stark images

on the steel bright rocks.


Yet now in England

she flees our darkening woods

where triglets clutch

and mist damp glades

hang heavy with wood smoke

forgotten cottages growing

from the roots of oaks.


As for me, in darkening woods

at owl call

my inner self begins to roam

the shuttered house,

I flee the lights to be alone.

Mice move underfoot

earth breathes

trees etch themselves against the sky

boles deep in mossy beds.

Dark unto dark

to the Merlin woods

I go.