irrgarten
‘If here, o courtier, guest, you wish to escape
from death, think a little before you begin
of Theseus the Greek: don’t walk recklessly in,
don’t take just any path when you enter this maze.
Arm yourself with good thread, tied
fast beside the entrance, unwind it and find
your way back from the core, love’s island.’
So what was there? Fallen leaves. A lion-
footed bench, black with damp. All trace
of your light girlish laughter long effaced.
The way back. Echoes. At every crossing
you tantalisingly slip away from me:
a foot, fold of your skirt over your knee,
swirl of your hair, irrevocably fled.
They do it with mirrors. How come this web of threads
here? And was this my path? Irrgarten: maze,
crazy garden. Who seeks you here must be mad.