South Hinksey
the rain’s hiss on the green dark
of the arboreal bore
wound out ambulatory
in barbed coils across the field
once we had run out of world
in between pent villages
nobody walks around in
ceases to a soft sizzle
until the pylon’s crackling
announces it had straddled
the ear all the time or else
some stranger won’t move along
plunks into the pond-scum mind
28-29 April 2008