It took some hours to summon up
The will to visit my painful bluebell wood:

Piercing blue of deep intensity
In liquid sun and waves of searing mauve
Where sharper light silvers slender trunks
Of beech and fir.

There is a poignant stillness here
Amongst the bending heads and waxen leaves,
For here I read your final message:
Non negotiable.

I settle on a log to read a book
Of real pain to scale my sadness down,
But it is hard to close our meagre volume
Scarce started.

I should have put my love to bed by now,
Moved on amongst the whispering bluebell seas,
But you and they are neuron-fused in
Annual emptiness.

I cycle home to find at least
The house is spick and span
With my procrastination.

Howe Wood, Saffron Walden April 2017