Welcome home Marena

You stroll with her away
from the car in the sunshine.
Earlier, it rained. Grass is greener,
trees fresher. In conversation
you’re already a man, relaxed,
limber. Your trousers flatten
to the movement of your legs,
the air fills the yoke and shoulders
of your shirt like pride.

A forest of white trees, the clouds
pile together swathing hillsides,
valleys, massive cliffs. The trees
surge in clouds, frothing
on the landscape, bobbling.
Behind you both, a flat sea
hangs like sky. In the clouds
enough blue to make
a pair of sailor’s trousers.

Below, in the singular street
with its little painted houses all
of different hues, each connected
by wire to the telegraph pole,
a giant peg anchoring
a row of kites about to soar,
all anxiety’s quelled in a footstep,
history shrugged so lightly
I hear the laughter of birds.