Thyme, Sensed

Music arrives from the ground; upwards,
swelling among the trees -
a summer intoxication begins
as the players unpack their songs,
trusting memories that have worn
thinner than paper

sharing this place, we sit among squares, ourselves framed,
revelling in the sense - the texture - of the brush
knowing that no photograph could recreate the way the air feels
or bring back the smell of bread-baked thyme,
as it crumbles in our hands

a cloud of kettle steam beckons
old friends to sit with us again
to look back on indefinite days

and as we play among the phonic earth,
laid out with love, the scent of roots
embellished by the missed seasons
the stem of your glass holds the evidence

that we were always in tune