The Broad Walk

Regent’s Park, November


I pick a tree, from all those rows,

ruggedly gesturing, voiceless,

braced for the fall of shaming snows,

a captive in its stark undress.


At my feet the thousand-pieces

puzzle in countless shades of brown

attests to a handful of species

whose leaves the recent winds brought down:


English oak, sycamore and plane,

dropped from nearby if not above,

plus singletons a whispering campaign

seems to have carried from some grove-


cum-library of rumours from afar –

silver maple, pin oak, liquidambar.