The jasmine bush absorbs a crystal sky
not seen for months. The sodden mess of leaves
that clogged the path all winter now is dry
and ready to be swept. There’s something sharp
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about the sunlight blinds the eye this morning –
stems have straightened up, the wheelie bin
has taken on a strange new lustre.
This the first day he has shone in earnest,
edging over boundary walls and hedges
to inspect our winter graveyards. Days
of early dark and icy outside taps
are numbered. When I creak the shed door open,
shears and spade blink in the corner: come,
the world must be newmade. It’s time.
