Grey morning garden.
I carry you, sleeping,
Among a congregation of weeds;
Dandelion in wet grass,
The white of new daisies,
Dock leaves and nettles,
Briers that promise dark fruits.
Blackbird, starling, house martin;
Their mad hymn moves beyond the beat of a woodpigeon,
And the breath that carries them breathes on us.
At the door to our house I take one hand from under you,
And as I reach to turn the handle
Three raindrops fall on your face,
Cold as light.