....along the dry stone wall, its puzzle solved by moss
and out of those trees into that cleft of earth
split they say by a father's grief
at the loss of man to earth.
....and again I felt the tipping in the scales of us,
the intersection of our ages.
....and me reaching for some kind of purchase,
or at least a shallow handhold in the thought
that with every step apart, I am another closer to you.
Poem "Farther" from the book Skirrid Hill, by Owen Sheers.