Song of Austerity

You’re in the park and she 
is skipping happily along,
her little hand in yours;
but you have lost the way
inside the hornbeam maze, 
have gone too far
and now the fading light
 
gnaws at a rib of birch
beyond the fading path. 
Trees shake bare fists
and flailing limbs up 
to a judgement-day sky 
bleeding fire and gold 
as if to say: I could not 

do enough but now there’s 
nothing left to squander 
in the name of love.
Of course no angels will 
appear with keys or horns, 
no end’s in sight
but all of this is yours.