The Question

In the locked sky beats a dove,
It speaks continually of love.

Deep in the river a talking stone
Says he lies easy who lies alone.

Under the stone there hides a knife:
The beginning and end of every life.

In the dark forest are flowers of light
That never fade by day or night.

Down in the valley stands a tree,
Its roots uneasy as the sea.

High on the tree there hangs a nest.
Here, says the wind, you must take your rest.

Through the spinney with eyes of wax
Runs the woodman with glaring axe.

Naked my love and I arise
Bathed in his fearful prophecies.

Whose is the bird and whose the stone,
Whose is the light on the midnight sown?

Whose is the tree and whose the rest,
And whose is the knife upon my breast?

Who is the woodman and what does he cry?
Gaze in the mirror. Do not reply.


Charles Causley