Storms in absence like the ages before I was anywhere

and out in the shred of forest through the seasons

a few oaks have fallen towering ancients elders

the last of elders standing there while the wars drained away

and slow-dancing with the ice when time had not discovered them

in a scrap of what had been their seamless fabric these late ones

are lying shrouded already in eglantine and brambles

bird-cherry nettles and the tangled ivy

that prophesies disappearance and had already

crept into the shadows they made when they held up their lives

and the nightingales sang here even in the daytime

and cowbells echoed through the long twilight of summer

the ivy knew the way oh the knowing ivy

that was never wrong how few now the birds seem to be

no animals are led out any longer from the barns

after the milking to spend the night pastured here

they are all gone from the village Edouard is gone

who walked out before them to the end of his days

keeping an eye on the walnuts still green along the road

when the owl was safe in these oaks and in the night

I could hear the fox that would bark here bark and be gone