for Di
I’d seen it before but had not heard it named:
The leaves like nettles, a blue flower that peers
Above dustbins and detritus. Called alkanet,
It’s a kind of wild borage, the book says.
A year, more or less, since we moved in.
That long June evening, you having gone back
To the old house, I stayed on sanding the floor
Until I could no longer see to work,
Then for the first time left by the back way.
Anxiety dulled by labour, conscious alone
Of sweat and dust and my limbs’ weight, I felt
The quiet that is exhaustion coming on
And in the alley, among dark shapes of leaf –
Palpable shadows that I waded through,
My hands tingling – saw tiny flowers that retained
The sky’s late intensity of blue.
When I got home I told you of the flowers
And of the light I’d seen them in. Since then
I know you have often thought of them as mine,
Not seeing that I cared for them as yours.