Regrets

What if, while hunting in the woods, I discovered only silence trapped, Between the air and bone? If shafts Of verdurous sunlight slipped through branches, love, Would I not forget the world bursting into bloom? What, under the imagine wooden roof, Did I ever give back, but a whisper, a breath Sweeping past—like the flitting feathers, Rough and dull against sweet wildness, A sound with shadow, soft with love, Offering warmth, as it gathers the night?

• Sidney Keyes