(for Judi)
Days of random events,
waking with no plan,
all the city mine to play in.
And whatever else I do
I’ll be no damned richer
by the evening. Can’t dance
too wet to plough.
Cut myself shaving.
Unsnarled the white kitchen.
Emptied out the trash.
Filled little red pots
with dark London soil,
So come live with us
little green-sleeves.
Like the throats of birds.
A slow careful work
that’s repetitive,
my mind drifting off
hanging in the moment
I’m tucking roots
among muck’s spaces.
Sounds of far traffic,
blackbird, woman’s nextdoor voice
and rattle of a bowl.
Dog’s yap. April light
warm across my shoulder.
I am awake again, my life
suddenly its centre.
You I love
who taught me aloes heal.
Red blossom through the suburbs.
Yellow blaze forsythia makes.
Skies forever changing.
Words forming into meaning.
Take the aloes. Take from me
of all my pages this love.