Stars in the night sky?
Too early, and I look down:
blossom on tarmac.

Treetops, alive with
twittering birds: their site for
social networking.

After the spring rain
the clean Earth gleams and gurgles
like a bathed baby.

The train window shows
sidings, freightyards, raindrops, Crewe
and your reflection.

Overtaken by
the bus home I just got off
and a quiet joy.

Champions could learn
much about celebration
from these week-old lambs.

Ranked in the garden,
Pete Green's black and white army:
magpies and my cat.

"A host of golden..."
Those aren't Wordsworth's daffodils:
they're our daffodils.

Cars in the valley,
muted as rumours about
some other city.

Ah, so you're still here –
I like your pale defiance,
watery rainbow.