by Christos Polydorou

The foxes are
asleep in the sun.
The blackbirds are perched
on the tallest antennas
singing their mating
song. And I am at
my window, somewhat
wistful, finally poetic,
although this morning
felt like a month of Sundays
distilled into one,

I had a chance to talk about
it a little,
with a friend,
just enough to tug at the end
of that pain,

and drag it out
into the melting light.
I am now instead looking
outward, across the rooftops
and the chimneys,
and the treetops
of flowering dogwood,
and yellow magnolia trees,
and cherry blossoms just kicking in,
four light green majestic poplar trees,
easily a mile away, tallest of them all,
the houses and trees,

the birds,
the bees,

even the paragliders
along the river Thames,
their fabric wings
of hot fuchsia and neon yellow,
a shock of art!
in my landscape view
dominated by those four beautiful poplars.

Let me show them to you.