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.
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