You and I with fifty valentines and
February’s sun pale on the glass!
We count the camellia’s crimson blooms –
and remember, last summer, our grandchild
shivering with ecstasy the day
she chased her daddy with the garden hose.
From here, the house seems sentient, our
remembrancer – the lawns and borders and
parts of neighbours’ houses an urban landscape.
In this wooden hexagon – a half-glazed
gazebo, its blind back turned to a high
Victorian wall festooned with ivy
and clematis – voices are naturally
intimate and revealing, privacy
in an open space. Is it remarkable
we have been friends and lovers so long?
Chance, choice, serendipity or willpower?
We opt for all four. Behind us, in shade
for most of a winter’s day, accidental
primroses are blooming.
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By David Selzer
