 What are our lives but showers of leaves and last year an autumn grindingly long Today sharp sunlight of not quite spring Bleaches birch skeletons against a sky painfully blue and we come here Trumpling the triggers of fallen twigs then we grow stale as We breathe with the trees a leaf will fall twisting and flaunting Join the orbits gently swimming in memories We can be made whole here in this thin place between clay-bound roots and wind-bound boughs between body and soul and the oaks will soon sail on their seasons and Filling their glory through churches of green Saving the sun into the shadows below and our grief will wear new colours as it must