I came out of the mouth of the most High,
  and covered the earth as a cloud [mist].
I dwelt in high places,
  and my throne is a cloudy pillar.
I alone encompassed the circuit of heaven,
  and walked in the bottom of the deep.
I had power over the waves of the sea, and over all the earth,
  and over every people and nation. (Book of Ben Sirach 24:3)


This is the season citrane coloured birds tear from my heart
to the treetops and skies bow down to hear them singing.

This is the season Sue posts photographs of an abundance
of sunflowers on her land.    Kris phones to say

she is taking the car to visit Sophia, the Sophia,
Fern is with her and I say wait a minute, I'll come too. 

Nadia pops the top on the Lincoln Continental
and Jo's beside her with Persia dog in her lap.

All of our mothers released from the glove compartment.
Wind and rain smithereen the leaves from wych elm

revealing black branches of goldfinches awaiting
a sprinkling of nyjer seeds from her apron.

She dips her hands into a shallow bowl of rose water
then holds my face.    Together we tend to all the babies

being born world wide across time.    Shelley knows
when to reach out and assure me.    A postcard of an owl

from Maggie.    Prairie's flight.    White corn snakes'
electric loving presence.    This is the season a little girl

skips and gallops ahead of me.    Quince on the pavement,
whole and smashed.    Some lions, some throne.

Wendy Heath lives in the northeast of England. She is the author of two chapbooks, book of Greta Oak and Radio Lent.