Walking into the Oxford night
The 8pm walk
Is choosing to leave
The seeming certainty
Of the current comfort
The mid-summer eve Oxford
With all her opening times expanded
Reminded of your first arriving thought
“What have you done?”
As January darkness
Turned off your will to meander
At first your South African hairdryer
Would not receive the electricity
The British socket wanted to give
The cold unknown of this winter air
Threatening to dampen your resolve to leave
To make the first courageous move
Towards the question
Your mind summoned
And your footsteps wanted to answer
“What have you done?”
Absolved of its potency
Five months later
Your summer self
Is smiling at strangers in Port Meadow
Attempting restraint
Trying to beat into submission
A no less pressing or deliberate question
“What will you do?”
Now the murkier Thames
Signposts you all the way
To within a sprint of your front door
Even the summer sun
Has split apart into orange streaks
To bid you farewell
With the anticipation of a returning traveler
Satisfied with moving in the dark
Preferencing homecoming
Your questions unanswered
But perhaps altered
“Will you take step after step
as these questions walk again?”
