Last year, you brought me
into the garden, with the sun
shining bright from your head. Last year
the flowers were bright and the sun shining.
Does it shine this year?
Last year, you poured me tea and
the afternoon was endless. Golden sun
poured between my toes
as the Green Man poured out the beer.
Bless this garden. Bless this place. Bless this afternoon.
Memory fades.
The oranges are swelling on the branches
like the memories are swollen in your head
choking out all between them. I watch the oranges
ripen, rotting on pavement. I
smell the sea
and it won't be long now. It's been raining
for half a dozen weeks.
Or I've been crying
for the memory of an afternoon
for the kindness of a springtime day
for the oranges rotting and time
withering before it's time.
It's never time.
Bless this memory. Bless these oranges. Bless that afternoon.
O Christine, may the trees have memories
and the oranges too, when the wind has gone.
O Green Man, shine in sunlight
trees to border gardens
and petals to grow where the beer has poured.
O memory, leave for me a spring's afternoon,
the taste of oranges, withering already.
O afternoon, live forever,
a memory in the garden and the citrus trees.