Poem from a day with Tess

After a strange half-year I’m out, in late December 

Talking about it 

And if not solid reality is touchable 

Soft but firming slow

I know that bird and this pond side nook 

Kind familiar untethered, here, 

But admit I can’t live in the city

It feels like a traitorous thing 

Born, loved, and mothered of someplace 

To scheme your de-rooting for new soilscapes 

Still seated with a sweet friend from home. 

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