The wood where I was gone
for ages, on those Sunday afternoons:
lost on purpose, looking for the lithe
weasel in the grass,
stopped in my tracks, the way you stop
for echoes…
—John Burnside, “Lost”
from SELECTED POEMS (Cape, 2006)
https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/389400/selected-poems-by-burnside-john/9780224078030