She is drawing him maps: “rough but accurate”,
which he denies, telling her: “Don’t bother!”
“How will you find your way?” she moans. He smiles:
“That question is the question I might ask.”
“It’s good enough,” she says. “It’s not to scale –“
“It’s not to reality,” he laughs. “River?
Where is that? The pond? Those four tall beech trees?”
“Such things don’t matter?” he snarls. She mutters.
Of the straight lawn, grass is neatly covered
by leaves of a huge bush neither can give name.
On the roof, a large blackbird sings loudly
whilst surveying the gardens down below.
Inside, their cat is sniffing each cushion
in a semi-circle round the burned out fire.
--
Lawrence Upton
AHRC Creative Research Fellow
Dept of Music
Goldsmiths, University of London
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