Today I light the fire. Warmth
Curls the heart of the room.
The cats string round our legs like autumn leaves.

I think of your eyes, milky with sleep,
Veined moonstones of light
In the hazy lizard-green of early morning.

I remember I learnt the flowers from you,
The Latin names, when to plant, to prune,
To sweep the grass of petals, pearls of seeds.

And how we sat in a summer garden
With your fist curved round my hand,
A tiny blur of sunshine in your fingers.

Today you are tired and fretful on the pillows.
You ask me, where am I?
I answer, you are home, this is your bed.

A cloud of chaffinches in your head,
Lippy and raucous. River-music in your ears,
Late jasmine smashing sweetness in the air.

A month on, and I wait for the phone to ring,
For the brown bees' whisper at the other end.
I light the fire and watch the muffled flame:
Words snap like orchids on a fragile stem.