It’s always when,
the magnolia bursts into purity itself
beside the shuttered houses along
these grimy streets, and the pear trees
gentle stubble turns the starkness of the
year into a children’s wish,
it’s always then, that you begin to be
close to me.

It’s somehow Camellia
dancing in pink skirts belting
psychedelic colour to the ground
in fallen perfumed petals: and the green shoots
pierce the grumbling winter soil,
to raise the shadow of a smile
it’s always then, that you bring
a single rose to me.

It seems that time
has thrust you from her depths
& death is nowhere to be found
for somehow memory is bound up in the bliss
of each succeeding spring, the sketch of long lost
kiss & the garden tells it all,
it brings me to my knees in thankfulness,
that your hand was once in mine.

It’s always when,
the magnolia suddenly appears
& fox cubs scream their loathsome
midnight song, when cherry blossom looks
exactly as it should, like some blowsy bride’s
bouquet at the ending of this day
when the moon is throttled in the sky and your birthday
rings bells in my head, it’s almost always then

that I feel you, so very close to me.