It’s that time of year

when blossom sprouts

from barest branch

bigger than blossom

substantial as a cup

the waxy magnolia

filters the spring light

we made a game

to spot a tree

scoring a point

for each

and should we

come upon

the one named Stellata

we’d give ourselves a four



a stream of golden daffodils

where once the filter beds

were clad in concrete walls


i watch the moving spaces

between the chestnut trees


it’s light now

when I leave

and make my way to home


I can see further

than my hands

across the street

and on beyond


and yet the air

stays chill

we clasp our scarves and jackets

round our necks


and wish we had

more layers

wrapping round


“Our deathline is”

the foreign client writes

the word so close to one

we use and do not notice


deadline is one letter less

and dead and death

are closely intertwined


yet changing our more usual word

for their translated one

prompts me to look more closely

at the words I use each day


the crunch-mobile is here.

she sits across the desk from me

and cannot go for long

without a bite

I thought that I was bad

but if I have to eat

I am discreet

and carefully avoid a noise

She is more bold

and proudly rustles paper bags

and glugs her juice

and all of this is magnified

because the screens and files

that lie upon the desk

create a frame

for her eternal reaching hand

A Bridge Too far?

Some years ago

the bridge was not so high

the steps reached up

but not too far,

halfway, then turned

and crossed the tracks.

Each flight achievable.

And when we reached the top

we could look over

at empty tracks

or passing train

But now a “standard bridge”

is in its stead

built for trains

that need the extra height

We are not standard folk.

We miss our crooked bridge

and when on top

we cannot see the track

we have to travel on.

Foxholes in the Garden

Whose garden is it anyway?

You were born

and need a place to roam and hunt and sleep.

I need the space

to look and sit and grow.

And just because

I pay a price

to “own” this place,

do I deserve

dominion over you?

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