Lewis Pass

Wind the windows down.
Even under snowfall the forest wafts in,
snow-sharpness softened with humus.
The black road bristles at the edges,
beefeater beeches black and furred with road-dust
and summer’s honeydew.

Pull over on the verge.
Only the cold can keep you civilised;
were it warmer, you’d run naked-footed,
daring the border guards to let fly their wasp-vollies,
to try and stay your wild flight into the ferns -
as if they could!

Drive on, but keep the windows down.
Until you reach the icy bend near Springs Junction,
you can breathe the snow-beech-earth…
The unbending forest studiously ignores
your very presence.