I love this place with its layers of song
and the traces of criss-crossing hoof and paw
bird voices calling taking it in turns
to send echoes racing.
I love it as I love Redon colours
the tragic beauty of a Marc
brushed with fingertips never seized
always the onlooker.
We think we own because we have measured
signed papers handed over cash.
Sunlight stretches leaves unfurl
blossom scatters in the wind.
A shower patters, ringing wild garlic bells.
The blackbird looks at me with bright eye,
tugs at a worm.
I watch the world whisk by
in the flash of a white scut.