Our summer-house, at the end
of the garden. I rarely go there...
these here days. But, when I do – like
last evening, the door sticks, as ever,
and there’s more panes of glass
broken than not.
Almost dark; the sunset...reflecting
in the windows, and for one split
second, thought I glimpsed you...
my mind playing tricks on me
again; in your hand, a sprig
of Ladies Slipper.
Got me to thinking of that last time
we made out in there...overlooked
by a pink-cheeked moon – wide
eyed, that later, rocked us
to sleep...like the stars;
safe in night’s deep,