in Poems

Poem: ‘On Walking from Marston, 3am’

“…about mortality, and a sombre theme.

& now the path bends right • the night
spills out into this stubble field
startled by its own broad silence
the mind, a dropped stone, rolls its swell
against the far black round of trees
makes the floodplain a lake • (awake
beyond the hedge a cow perhaps
considers the strangeness of things) •
all curves and trembles to reflect
the mist that globes a starless sky

somewhere beneath a dark weight sits
& drags the shadows from my feet

& now alone the streetlamps pin
the present through • their sodium glow
dissipates out as cooling suns
burn against the elder blankness
uncertain of their centre • strung
from past to future, seen at once
each point in time dilates to eye
a flexed lens held to sphere the bright
moments within • now heart clench tight
to hold together all the world •



Marston is north-east of Oxford. The epigraph is from an email from my grandfather, referring to a different poem I sent him the week before writing this.