The park’s diagonal avenue of limes
is in leaf. A warm southwesterly
billows through the foliage like falling surf,
like the tumultuous rushing of flames.
I watch you walk away under the trees,
and disappear into the green shade.
On the path directly opposite,
across an uncluttered expanse of grass,
you reappear some moments later,
undeterred by a surge of carefree cyclists
taking short cuts, or self-absorbed dog walkers.
You vanish beyond the wind-swept tennis courts.
As if I were some ancient and complacent
Orpheus I know that I shall see you –
walking beneath the tumult of the leaves,
sure-footed on the airy ground – and feel
that wave of love like fire.