We were a time of our own the redstart reappeared

on the handle of the fork left alone for that moment

upright in the damp earth the shriek of the black kite

floated high over the river as the day warmed

the weasel slipped like a trick of light through the ivy

there was one wryneck pretending to be a shadow

on the trunk of a dead plum tree while the far figures

of daylight crossed the dark crystal of its eye

the tawny owl clenched itself in its oak hearing the paper

trumpet and rapid knocking that told where the nuthatch

prospected and the gray adder gathered itself

on its gray stone with the ringing of a cricket suspended

around it the nightwalkers slept curled in their houses

the hedgehogs in the deep brush the badgers and foxes

in their home ground the bats in the high crevices

none of it could be held or denied or summoned back

none of it would be given its meaning later