i.
one dark night as
i left my silent house
the long driveway
lay itself before me
i looked back, down
from the driveway's
apron at the street
the house unlit
seemed almost
brooding back in
it's dark wood
ii.
the half turn at the
ancient oak, which leans
out over the driveway,
aching for light, and then
the gentle sweep of curve,
along the line of
stately maples, which
turn such a lovely
golden red in autumn
iii.
i could just make
out the main
entrance and chimney
side, the bedroom wing
hidden behind the
dense understory
of viburnum
it seemed to me
that Maple Ridge,
secreted as it was
back in Darkwood,
was much like the
life of the people
dwelt within
iv.
the dark and the brooding
had touched those lives,
like mourners on the edge
of some young lover's grave,
there in that dark wood,
the woman had believed
the man who dared
that love might conquer all,
and that being subdued,
had seemed better than
mere surrender
v.
but now, that bitterness
had leeched into
these very walls,
i had paused, in this
heart-stopping notion,
to ask myself what if
these mourners dwelt
there in this dark wood,
unobserved and naked,
now buried, in this silent
wood
