The hospital is surrounded by a cordon of bright love
you can almost see it rising in the air
The hospital, a concrete sepulchre to love -
to trying, and to hope.
Outside a woman on her mobile phone
passes on the news.
Perhaps a baby has been born - or someone’s died.
Another rushes by with reddened eyes and bitten lip.
A group in dressing gowns sit smoking on a bench
like naughty ones at school
one hooked up to a plastic bag of fluid on a stand.
And all the ghosts are looking down.
Without love there would be no grief.
Its awkward presence proves that love is real.
And cascading round the hospital,
swirling round the grounds
all I can see is love.
Love swells like a shimmering dome
above the hospital.