Step down into the kitchen.
Black and white tiles as on a chess board.
Greeted by a stranger with such warmth.
As if he was my closest friend, brother.
A herb in his shirt pocket. It takes me
a while to name this herb.
There was a path that I followed.
I followed it at dawn and at such
times as I could steal from the day.
It twists and winds and I don't
know where it's leading or why
Another road, linear, as the Roman road
that ran directly through this kitchen
was like an inverted rainbow: no curves,
spectrum of colours, just a broken promise
that ended with a crock filled with dust.
Flies buzz endlessly around the room
where the view shows weather
out of kilter with the summer.
I try thinking small. Picture
parchment paper, linen thread,
yellow beeswax, steel needle
by thread or web to America,
Canada, Germany, Greece.
that spark stories,
I look down
on the long grass, three
different colours of poppy.
What I think is rosemary.
The symbol of love