Change

Change A few feathers on the river path By the copse betray the corpse Nothing more sinister than unseasonal cold weather The egrets and like have returned to the river The same week as the storm from Russia The big drifts take their time Stay unthawed on the far banks for days Discoloured by the top soil that is blowing off the fields The white birds fly, awkward away upriver Always away And I move, a violence all my own shape Back through the town Alone and shamed A man on his worn-out empty way