Behind me, starting At the door, tracks In the snow, stalking Twilight warming Its hands out west, At the very edge Of sightless distances.

In front of me, unburied, A hedge of winter jasmine, Its profusion of yellow Dots standing for something Unsaid and unsayable.

And between these two A brown tomcat is yawning.

I pick up a piece of Glacial quartz. Cold stone in my fist Glinting in the morning Sun is the tunnel To slide into the domed Halls of childhood This winter, Where for the first time I am learning again What directions are.

Face the sun, say east. This took place on a hill Which overlooked a filled Cemetery, which returned British sepoys to dust Under hulking banyans.

The cold neck faces west. Here I have exiled myself Trying to forget the fact That world, like time, Is circular, and that there Will always be a west Beyond this west.

I lift my arms as She taught me to. A bearded scarecrow’s Arms pointing to north And south, as they Throw crumbs to The crows.

Other lessons to be Learnt? How does water Sprinkled on the wall Vanish? Why do images Disappear in sleep? Why does salt dissolve, Only to reappear later, Sometime years later, As crystals, as rain, As memory?

These I have managed To learn without being Taught: sleep, grasp, Let go, make love, Empty, fill up, Echo, fall silent, Walk, walk away Into the deep wood.