Just for a quarter of the day, I’d have you
follow me through the smoking willow herb
and my father’s garden’s half-seized gate, down
to that place where the knowledge of almost every-
thing comes undone in the powdery ceanothus shade,
where the apple goes withering back to blossom
in your palm, and the serpent, on his hind legs
in the shadows leaves off whispering.
from Grain (Picador, 2009), © John Glenday 2009, used by permission of the author and the publisher.