Closed to the World

A garden does not forget.
Yields tart brambles, binds clematis to stone.
Remembers the touch of a child’s hand
releasing minty sweetness from lavender,
running down a grit path.
Laughter on being scooped up,
swung out over blown roses.
Love settling as soft as sea-fret
deep into the bones of winter.

Now she is an untamed thing,
reaches beyond walls, door.
Dances with abandon over brick.
No-one to control,
soothe, hold her steady,
calm winter storms
quieten the echoes.