It is summer
and I am ill
falling
fast

I am listening
to the blues
to Robert Johnson
and wondering
about crossroads
and old roads
and intersecting paths
and the old ways
chants heard
in lush green leaves
prayers
and blessings
witchcraft

It is summer
and I am surrounded
by roses
and lavender
and geraniums
and hanging baskets
with unknown flowers
cascading
over the sides
like a floral invocation
to unnamed goddesses
everywhere

The wind
blows
in the afternoon
It no longer
plays havoc
with my curls
They’re gone away now
wherever it is
illness takes them

At night the air stills
stars sparkle
and glitter
like you once said
my eyes did

It is summer
and I am surviving

loss
and renewal
and relentless sickness
and time
in all its
temporary majesty

20 June 2018
on the Sussex Coast

the fragility of summer