In a corner of my head the light is soft,
And heat falls, a gentle hand
To coax cold lizard blood.
In a corner, dark as all the past,
A memory, blue and green
Swells and sways to a fluting song
And flutters with a thousand birds’ wings.
Though I am not there to see,
The trees grow tall and throw a summer shade,
The grass coarse and dry beneath the sun
Flickers with insect dances.
Life squirms and laughs with quiet joy
Uncaring of my absence,
But if I close my eyes tight against the glare
And stop my ears against the brutalising din,
I can see jays swoop across the meadow
And hear the babble of the brook.