I don’t really write poetry.

Here is one of the poems I don’t write.

Accept, then, this moment
Let down the fragile sharp-stiff walls of bone and
Open the gates as you would open your hands
To accept such bounty into your lap,
With thanks.

Accept the bright sharpness of the air
Rich and dust-sweet with the tantalising tang of
Summer’s dying; accept the shiver of sharp sunlight on your
Skin, fragile in the cool air.
Accept the bright-blotch coin-bright beauty of the beech bushes,
The dying gold revealing the dark, spiky asymmetry of the skeleton beneath. Accept the unconscious, joyful symmetry of the poplar avenue,
Reaching high in their slow and eternal dance,
Drinking in the sun’s warmth
As the rustle and spin of fragile falling fills the air.

Accept the buzz of the insect wings above the water;
More felt than heard,
Nectar-drunk and trusting as they tremble in the gale of your soft breath, Taste for a moment the honey-sweet on that greedy-gulping black tongue As it flickers swift-shuddering over the blossoms.
Accept the cool-bright rills and soft-clear splashings
Echoing in the sharp, bright air,
Bead-black eyes blinking, dipping and diving
Drinking in, then sailing, trailing away a graceful v of wake.

Accept the white wings spreading, taking off,
Embracing you for one sweet, eternal moment in rushing, rocking comfort.

Accept all this;
One single, jewell-bright moment
Breathe it only, with no attempt to grasp it.
Allow your pain to ebb away with it, in one soft
And complete moment of being.
And feel only thankfulness
The Earth’s unconscious, ever-given bounty.