Walking round the field

I walk down the slope beside the copse
where the catkins are going over
and the blubells coming up

through loose wicker twigs see
the last rag of today's sunlight
dazzling bleach on dust grey night fall

then cross the flat where the street light
peers lurid as a devil's eye reminding
me I'm bound with people

their wheeze of cars all around
like my breath when I have asthma
never reaches silence, lets me sleep

so up the hill the garden fences
compost heaps and geenhouses
beyond blinded windows

and on my side bonfires charred
remains or buildings, honesty pale
as ghost money, old boxes, prunings

I look out at the swell of field
though years unploughed - setaside
till they're allowed to put houses on it

where in summer sunfull buttercups
and wild forgetmenots will blue haze
warm air seeming Heaven's door

now grass frost-leached shows the curve
I love and never cross the space
unclaimed a drumskin taught

waiting and as I write now
realise I walked all round
and you never crossed my mind