Alice Oswald





      Time Poem


      now the sound of the trees is

                                and I'm still here
      staring when I should be bathing

      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

      who left the light on the step?

      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


· From New Writing 12, edited by Blake Morrison, Jane Rogers and Diran Adebayo, published by Picador on October 17 at £16.99