On the Downs above Kingston
Pausing to perch on the usual stile,
I turn away from the usual view
That looks out into the far distance
Over curvaceous slopes – the Downs
Meandering above the valley,
The catch of chalk cliff, the cars visible
On road underneath. I know
Where it goes; bears them on to the sea
Travelling east under a wide sky.
No, I’m swivelled round, scanning
The left-hand view – straight
Up the hill, the grass close-nibbled
By sheep, by rabbits, where I drop my gaze
Into the field you do not cross
When flocks are grazing there.
The eye travels up to the
Close-in vista of a bumpy hill
And, beyond the field’s end,
The dark clumps of trees.
This angle disappears into
Woodland. You do not know where
It leads to. Neither do I.