Closing

Pink campion are yet to come.

The trees are falling over
and laying their heads
by the river.

Spring has shot her gun
for one sharp week of sun

And everything throws off layers
in a panic to be naked

and coloured.

The daffs are undressing
harsh yellow

With the sky
peeling back thick white
to leave only lambs.

Sun for one week
and you throw off
my time and affections.

You have been closed
far too long. Shut down
foxglove, never came

But
but I thought I’d toil
and tend as is my
bee-mind custom.

But the closing
of your car meant
you’d closed once more.

You’ve left honey
in my throat.

I text you: ‘stay open’