See, though it is January, already
rose buds fatten, the camellia’s
are uncountable – and some of last summer’s
geraniums still bloom. A squirrel
sniffs and claws at last year’s hoards and blackbirds
gather. Forty years, this Valentine’s, this
sentient house has been our home where
paintings shift, doors stick and light falls like blessings.
Always there are so many ways to write of love.