BOY WITH A BALL

From the shadow, yellow wall

of a tree steals

boy and ball

 

 

He was there a week, and

centuries ago

says Grandam (who should know)

it was plague that thinned him

till he fit

that bit of churchyard earth

that fits us all

It must have been –

he lingers in the fall

 

 

Hmm? The meadow, somewhere

in the meadow’s heart

The greenest part

 

 

[first published in Grain]

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