Few items mean so much to me as the moon does, or
a sunrise, a pet’s photo, smiles with crackling lines,
the smell of tea, contours of old castles. Cathedrals,
relieve after a storm, surviving all,
Clean sheets. Our family. Standing by the sea.
A hand on a shoulder. Our sons. Your letters.
The silver and green shamrock hanger I got in Dublin.
A Christmas tree. That happy feeling on a ship.
To be alone. Write. Read, or days in May. Violins.
New notebooks. Your body, and the verb to be.
Chocolate and train trips, walking, old cities, Norway.
Perfume, days after giving birth, getting published.
That I can see. A good bed after a long day. Fresh morning air.
Daisy chains, sweet white wine, an April shower.
The blue of the sky. Snow maybe. Sense of being free.