TIME POEM By Alice Oswald

Saturday August 23, 2003
The Guardian

now the sound of the trees is
worldwide

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

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
hieroglyphics.

who left the light on the step?
pause

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