Vespers

Down on hands and knees, like prayer, she kneels

before each plant, feels its root. Digs out shoots of

shepherd’s purse; plucks white nettle clumps and

neighbouring leaves of bitter dock. Coaxes bees

with lavenders whispering across a needlepoint of

lawn. Campanulas woven into trellised gates spill

lace, and cranesbill cups of Johnson’s Blue fall open,

summering in full sun. June’s glory is the lace-cap,

favourite of the Common Blue, icarus wings seen

dipping into pink flat-headed pearls. Come evening,

when the last threads of bindweed have been pulled,

the clods of damp soil turned, her firefly thoughts

grow still; the pulse slows to the symmetry of leaf;

of blossom: spanning years, she’s sown Jerusalem.