The last gasp night is here,
follows weeks of drawing in the air.
Deep and deeper still,
each breath holding
some recollection
that cannot be let go.
So we lie down to rest,
lungs fit to burst,
blown-up with busy years.
The yarn of our entwinement
woven on now blank walls:
a mind’s eye tapestry.
The trees we felled
and those we’ll leave to grow.
The labour of digging.
How climbing frame and grass
gave way, by increments,
to beds of fruit and flowers.
Place that grew as we grew with it:
from stories read in character voice
to tinned sardine sleepovers.
Framed in our front door,
school uniforms flung on, then gone.
And more besides …
Winter fires banked up.
Rescued rabbits.
Skylight rainbows.
The decking out, the winding down.
… but parting dawn breaks the news
that
property is not belonging.
