The Oldest Tree in Mercombe Wood
Beech tree, you are an elephant,
your crumpled bark as grey as power,
glistening and irresistible
in the small violence of a shower.
Foul water lines your long toes. Our
brief bustle will not see you through.
You are the year. We are the hour.
Green in my death, I fear for you.
To be published in her new collection,
by Carcanet in February 2022.
If you have any
thoughts on this poem, Alison
Brackenbury would be pleased to hear them.