head down he walks the same diagonal path
he walked last week and endless weeks before
and scrupulously notes forgets and notes
each paw- and footprint scattered in the snow
each tells a tale to store away for sleep
here lovers met and there a conversation
and underneath those trees she dug her heel
and there one stamped his feet in sheer frustration
and there a dog dug for the ghost of bone
and here a squirrel and after him a cat
and someone took a shortcut through the drifts
and here the plough pushed drifts as far as that
he’s reached the end; the story has been told
and all’s behind: forgotten, still and cold
ooo love the footprints and uses of them. last stanza was as amazing as the rest, but i loved the driving plough.. very nice.
I wrote the idea of this one on my way to play bridge yesterday. It was a cold brisk day, and there were footprints much as I described; but the thing that struck me is that I seem to walk, head down when I am alone on an accustomed path, and I study the surface I am walking on with great intensity (probably so I won’t trip), but forget it immmediately after.