Fossils and the windows they wait in

You bought me a ring

the colour of Pimm's,

and your complexities

outstretched, unmovingly—

mosquitoes reaching wings

through resin, birch trees

stuck in supplication

for embrace.

It matches the earrings

you bought me in winter.

Half a life later,

the amber stays set—

as a beetle on bark,

I've come to know love

as a solid trunk.

We sip reflexively,

drain the drink slowly,

watch hazel, ash and willow

walk into the water.

The cockchafer, mummified

above the Sunday menu,

remembers its loud, brash living.

One last night—one last good meal.