Corridor of Trees
Knotbrook Taylor
Corrugated bark on pine
a place so old
below a mountain without name
I could not touch it
where the two of them stood
looking down on the river from the high bank
on my return
they were gone
but I remembered them there
a fork in the path
a bend
the slow high sound of jets
later in the forest
a man with a mobile phone
he was an American
the woman with him had chestnut hair
I passed by — invisible
down a corridor of trees
blue dragon flies
predatory wasps
I turned back before the loch
lost momentum
for all I know
just short of salvation.
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