Mothers Fight the Urge to Keep Them Close
But I’m trying not to let you go Further into wilderness. Signs and tarmac yield to unmade roads, Paring down to tracks, gates, fields And beyond, where trees peter out, Those featureless moors You walked as a youth From tor to tor, head down on the upslope, Lost in the joy of emptiness, That brain you hate running clear. I’ll keep fewer tabs on you now Because you’re not yourself and so You won’t miss what you don’t know. Cowardly and distracted I'll never appreciate The absence of difficulty. Do you know but can't express That all this is because of me? What a thing to hold on to When you're unravelling!