Homecoming

                  It’ll be something like other homecomings

after phone calls, snatched, indistinct,
on the way, still on the way, massive hold-ups, trees down…
with background noises of forecourts and cafés.

It’ll be when I’m white with waiting,
darkness gathering since mid-afternoon, frost sharp.
It’ll be after sightings of other lights, raising

false hopes, till here come the true lights, at last,
up the cul de sac, gleaming on firethorn and moss,
beaming into my attic eyes, staring out, staring out.

Epiphany 2015


Garden Apples

i.  Mother

The small tree in the shade
is mother.
...