Moving from home

One last walk around the garden This is my memory's Autumn I was a child of conifers Hiding there from games long gone. Dad's shed is derelict now fetal wood shavings rest from gliders planed we flew I take one and feel the grain. Nothing grows in the greenhouse Fossilized raspberries fur to grey A scent of them mixes with Dad His gloves point north from rigor mortis. Wasp hollowed coxes Lay half buried in the soil We used to rock the tree Catching white rain of silk every April I wore it watching stars from the highest bough. My time has come to leave home Someone else moves in tomorrow So today I jump against the hedgerows Just like I did as a child. I see my brothers in the paddling pool Where we yellowed lawns for days Until English rains came Sending hard expressions to soft towels. I will close the door quietly The same way I entered in a cot Thirty three years ago one January Bless this house with joy.