The dandelions, the real lions,
the tigers kept in cages for their bones,
the saxifrage, the spotted orchid,
a flower with pink tips that we cannot name,
a black cap singing on the TV aerial
a gang of woodlice all around a stone,
some snails with very smart white stripes,
fish in the shallows, dolphin in the sea,
a running fox, a pangolin, a deer.
We note that there is time to notice things.
The lime green willow on the other bank.
The things that plant themselves,
like hope, and flourish for the bees;
The bees despite our best attempts
appear as if the spring is welcoming.
The people with their children on the path
swinging their boy and singing to the baby,
The empty roads. The shiny air,
transparent water, undeveloped earth.
We are pandemic over all the world.
Enchanted by the dangerous toys we make,
our cars, our central heating systems,
the ready meals in shrink wrapped packaging,
a boat to carry thousands round the world,
‘to find a sweetness they have spoiled at home’
the miracle that is an Airbus. Having everything.
The oil. The coal. The love of heat and fire.
We play with knowing that it’s dangerous.
In mutual peril, all of us on pause, in the
same predicament we’ve given living things,
give up and die, or do something and try,
we wonder for a millionth of a moment;
the world waits; will it turn to something cold
another rock that spins in sterile silence
or will we choose to use our powers
to abandon all the dark endangering
and keep our little foothold in the stars?
Lyn 