The Game Poem by Diana van den Berg

She was there
- well, almost -
in the soft, silent mist,
behind that tree,
the one over there,
in the distance,
with the rough bark
and the night-green leaves,
a fold of her dove-blue dress
betraying her presence -
or was it just
a forest-folk shadow?

She turned
and ran,
carefree and nymph-like,
down the forest path,
soft-carpeted cool with
mottled mist-kissed leaves
under her bare feet,
then paused
and glanced over her shoulder -
mischievously.

He pretended
he hadn’t seen her
and was just
casually
meandering
through the tall, wet, whispering trees,
the swing of his tranquil tread,
slow, strong and rhythmical.

Moments later
she had faded into the mist,
from whence she had emerged,
but neither
was disquieted.

He knew
she would
return –
and she knew
he would follow
the woodland woman
into the mist
again.

(19 April 2011)