Riddance

In the way of this wood, by the clearing, I sought the last captive thought of silence. Above, in the bramble arch, The sky clasped the trees with distant woes. A wild complaint escaped the crag, Like an animal backlit in twilight, wearied, Yet the wind clasped the air grappling still, Those shapes of shadows quivered, Sprung forth towards the foundation’s depth,
Those lost sounds, the weightless arms, Giant filaments of wistful thought, Turned ochre in the dimming chords.

I softened and saw the sun bend down, The locked visions sifting promise— A comforting speech channelled, at last, Where the pines reached into me, Seeding spirits beyond the blackened piles.

• Ted Hughes