In this last light before the turning of night
I think I have found my resolution –
it is here in the mud among the roots

of a tall beech tree, and it glistens
like something newly born
when I raise it to the low lying sun.

It does not possess a voice, yet articulates silence
and has a permanence I do not understand.
I am not in the wood, the leaves or the branches.

And yet I am in all of them. Here is the truth.
When the black sky breaks to blue
I am revealed in all my nakedness. Coming home.

© Steve Walter
Commended, Kent and Sussex Poetry Society Folio 2003