They let me sit at a picnic table
in the garden of Oxford Union
lie on a bench, look up 
through the leaves 
into the blue sky 
and then ascend
on a cushion
lazy, like a sunning cat
and everything was all right

I dropped down to land
and looked for company
Is it too early to give thought
even before harvest is gathered
to winter / forget the distant hills
‐ bring it all back to myself