Means to an End

For Willow
Written by Rupert Loydell

Image Credit: Mohamed Hassan

I can hear voices over the hedge
but not enough to make sense of.
It's not my conversation anyway,
I just listen in. Have you noticed
how listening is not the same as
overhearing? No, me neither
but poetry is all about networks
of meaning, how words slip and
slide away from what we expect
them to be. Sometimes, anyway. 

It seems everyone is writing about
mycorrhizal networks, even me, as
a metaphor for connections, roots
and communication, a damp and
dark poetics hidden beneath us,
worlds away from self-confession.
So much more to find out, so many
possibilities to embrace, discard or
ignore, so much cryptic information
caught between mind and memory.