The great divide and range of green green grass
Oh, maybe it was peace at last, who knew?
Ben Howard, I Forget Where We Were
Second Cloud Farm
The trees were birdless, I believe,
or there were birds, but they did not sing for me.
A single pomegranate swelled to scarlet two steps
from my kitchen door, and cracked on the bough.
My part of the sky was kept swept clear of clouds;
it never fell to raining in the garden corners.
A heat wave moved into the house next door
but I haven’t introduced myself, nor did I get his name.
Children played in the street, on their way to school
and their voices reached for my deafened ears.
Everything is finite this season. Five full moons gave way
to the darker face. I, too, am finite. Summer passed.
Inspired by the artwork of Toril Fisher, shared in The Imaginary Garden: Artistic Interpretations with Margaret and the music of Ben Howard.