Doppelgänger
She is anywhere before me
tying thread on significant twigs
or following behind
leaving trails of white pebbles
like landing lights
or paper lanterns marking a garden path
I see her slant a flicker at the edge of vision
when I’m alone a hint of shadow in company
She scratches at my window when I’m working
grins out from behind the eyes
of the woman I pass on the hill who holds a gate
and smiles me through
grey hair wiry below her hat
a collie at her heel
and in the sharp glance of a crow
rag-tagging down from a tree
I hear her mutter as she titivates memory
gathers snatches of conversation watches
the street
Angela France
