Walking Through the Woods in Slippers

Walking through the woods tonight
(A bit too late, I meant to get around
To it more in the morning light,
Actually) no sprig of midday ground

Seemed in place, no sensible recall
Took sway, the selfsame province
Which, mottled in the darkest fall,
I lay claim to inch by inch,

But fell beneath my foot like so
Much mulch, the most familiar roots
Reduced to sticks: I suppose we grow
Like plants, and bear our fruit

Primarily by sight, although the eye,
Cast up, will see as far,
Above the glimmer of the sky,
As any distant metaphor.

Bedford, around 1980