and in the shop…
“Envying the Wild”
Fighting Cock Press;
“Walking to Snailbeach, New and Selected Poems”
Today is White Sunday.
Hawthorns open on verges,
in back yards, along railway sidings.
All this cool springtime
beauty has been held in store,
chilled for a late Whitsuntide.
Now even Stourbridge dazzles
through a diesel’s dirty glass.
There is white everywhere:
cow parsley and daisies,
white dandelion clocks.
Every vacant plot
wears Whit Sunday dress.
Today, I saw the look of death
briefly on your face, but it passed.
For another summer, we will sit together
and laugh. The view from my train
is more lovely because of it.
White and cool and sharp, it hurts,
a sprig of hawthorn across my cheek.