part of the British Library Digital
It wonít be long now,
the February struggle
a plateau of low reserves and cold.
enough to get home before dark,
to see itís the bottom of the end.
marshes will be water-filled a long time,
in June they still wonít be passable.
back, I could cross all through those
winters ó in a good frost, no trouble.
put a charm into the end of February,
stake I want to lose. It isnít yet begun,
never mind the little enchantments
crocuses the ground has hoarded up:
plants can struggle all through winter,
die in March. But the gift, when I stand
day soon in a patch of old grass and reed
the caterpillar trainset rattles to Chingford,
depends on what I give up now, as if
charm has made the spring; the spring
release my own little wheel, and the bell
wakes my effort to believe itís what there is.
"Mr Luczinski Makes a Move",
"Work & Food",