Ruth Fainlight
Time and Ladbroke Square

(vii) Late Winter

Late each winter, heaps of willow leaves

mulch the earth along the edge of the path.

At first, I thought they were spangled with frost -

then see that every surface has the punky

luminosity of something rotting.

I stoop to pick one up; the other side

is smooth and glossy as a new-husked chestnut:

a veritable vegetable paradox.