Coppice

I know this cold forest: I’ve been here before.

I recognise this distancing. You withdraw,

Your pause a little too long. Nesting birds,

Hatch and die in the gaps between your words.

Your smile, a little too forced. Leaves curl

And die under your lips’ dank, sunless world

You’re edging away. I hear it in the crack

Of the twigs underfoot. You’ll not be back

© Teresa Durran 190620