Time Defiance

Time defiance, persuasion, defeat
driving down a hundred, a thousand times 
on Spithandle Lane.
I find comfort in the tree branches,
stretching ferociously, rendering,
bolting, regrouping with emerald sounds,
capitulating, falling, falling—
like a bracelet on a tiny wrist.

There is no reward.

The fainting sky, the slow clouds,
suddenly vanishing, making my
heart bounce and drop in silence—
like heart failure,
like a prisoner on parole.

Four miles on twisting curves,
private land, landlords,
barristers,
a half-finished road, gates,
 an escaped flock of sheep,
dead squirrels flattened
like a mink coat.

The sun peeping fools the rain,
burying the rainbow in my polka-dot
blouse and rubber boots.

But the road only ends
when you soak in sweat,
revering the last stretch.