A SUMMER FLOOD Poem by Peter Fallon

Again, I went out
to the new wood
because, at times as these
it is a true good

to be alone
among the tree
I planted and trans-
planted, and an ease

among steadfast companions
to be one who believes
that answers can emerge
in leaves.

There was disquiet
in the house, a whirl-
wind in the ways and days
of our most lovely girl.

They stroked her like water
(that is, everywhere), the worries
and the woes, first deaths,
her teenage tragedies.

How live two lives
of here and there?
(Wherever ‘there' may be.)
May she pause (I make my prayer),

like salmon in the estuary -
our daughter -
acclimatizing
to fresh water

en route
towards a stay in gravelly mud
and waiting for
a summer flood

to tide them
over. Now contrails
scratch the sky. I watch
the mayfly hatch.

And then what had been
leafage in the night
began to ruffle
feathers, ready to take flight,

and birdsong happened
for me - no, for us
all - solo first,
then in chorus.