Try to catch it before it has vanished,
Like an air heard on a violin,
This voice that is your own inside your head.
Think of a field you entered as a child,
Where grass was spread out like a carpet.
And you made a daisy-chain, splicing
The thin grass with your finger-nails.
Time cannot brush the memory away.
Remember you and your mother
In that same field, in summers
That are not forgotten to the heart.
The heart remembers everything.
See yourself in that same field, or another,
Years later, with the woman who became your lover,
When you knew only from books
What the word lover meant. The plot
Of your life had taken a new shape.
You walked up the centre of a church
Hand in hand to get married.
Family and friends observed you.
Strangers knelt in the side-aisles.
See if you can remember all of this
In a poem. The day with your mother
In a field. The day you carried
Your wife across the threshold
And thought the house you were entering
Would always be home.