Those notes of silence in isolation in Spring
Carry further at night-time more than in the day
with the flowers blowing in the breeze
and the trees outside rustling in the court-yard
their beauty thickened from neglect.

Imaginary fowls that you would see in the fields
And the return of the birds once again
From their endless trawl down South
Are now closed like confessionals in churches
Dulling in the distance with everything seen,

Glittering in your imagination 
Across neighbour’s houses behind the communal bins
Moss green in your memory with uncertainty
Edged in your memories of the way it was
Catching glimpses of the past tied up in the future.