Departure

Two wood pigeons on the hedge Two thrushes fly low Over the uncut lawn Unfamiliar voices behind the door Then the door opens Two men carry out packed cardboard boxes In a few minutes the loading is finished A man's voice speaks on the phone from the garden I turn away, looking towards the road A car door slams behind me I close my eyes, while the car hisses by What a relief: they finally drove away. I lean against the fence The birds singing in the neighbouring garden I suddenly breakdown: Goodbye, goodbye... I'm afraid to say more Though no one is listening The house is empty Who’d have thought it would become The past archive, so soon? One last look at the garden? I don't believe they cared. They've got plenty of pictures With her blooming garden, so that'll do. They don’t know I have her comments on every photo A gallery of roses, cacti, pansies, petunias Her olive tree, and blue hyacinths She said they were blooming already On the 5th of March, one day before our time stopped And another time entered I don’t have to count it, do I We don’t live there.