Invasion

I The trees here murmur of love— In thick grating rings—a bark; I hold its tender wind, the distanced cry, Kissing the fractured sky, strong as fight.

II An ant, a bee, a moth, swathed in night;, Wrap their delicate hands in fire. It grips in rings of dark and bright whirls Of towering bushes tilting inside —-

Illusions madden with life But in caves, where tides swell, In me, there lies a wildness we cannot love, A fading, herald fire, deaf, still.

III The flaring tongue of day breaks like frost; Under towers’ veils my dreams weep for frost. Here is nothing real, slowed like a spill— An echo stripping its woeful own will, Swept like the sand, to drift inside me.

IV And now I watch their return shining, Those treetops, barreling high, Turning back again without delay, Grabbing the dawn, flipping and laughing bright;
I stand with my sick dreams, almost free, While this broken country feels like despair,
And yet, tonight, circling lives continue .

• Ted Hughes