I would trade this whole state
If we could repatriate
At our garden, that last summer.

You cultivated like plump green thumbs
Runner beans into gloved fingers,
Suspended on wicker canes.

In a parasol’s shade
We shared lemon tea and bread, home-made;
Your lawnmower was almost Edwardian.

Across the brook beyond the fence
Courting wood pigeons lament,
An embankment’s foliage is wild and dense

And contrasting with your borders where
Ornamental plants and flowers abundantly
Bloom; blue geraniums and hyacinths too.

Before this bungalow was built
There once was here an acre of orchards;
I cannot remember the last letter you posted.

I did not want to ever leave;
My soul was commandeered,
And the more I long to return

The further you are from here.
For thirty years reverse the planets,
Find the place in the universe

Where that moment still exists,
Over scones and cream for a moment we kissed,
And where my soul still alone inhabits.

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