I measure life out in flowering bushes

Walking through chines of rhododendron

Looking for God, finding girls

Taking the push chair into the flower house

Escaping to be alone

Walking in the morning of birdsong

Finding my way home

In Southwark Cathedral

Hour before service

The jugs need filling

The candles trimming

The flowers checked

The choristers practiced

We wait for God

My father died

My sister, long, slow death

The layering of grief

In the colours of the window I am back on the heath

The layering of souls, petals

The benches of faith

We wait for God

Redemption the only word in English

You cannot live without

The only word you cannot live up to

The advent of household chores

The scent of pollen

The depth of green

The feeling of colour in breeze closes my pores

So much and so sublime

In these flowers, in this church

The curve of the stone

The line of the leaf

The light through the grass

The sun on the Hepworth

The sound of the voices

The song of the birds

Practicing their glorifications in divine spaces

Warning their chicks not to fall to earth

Between the sound

The light

The leaf

The space

The faith

The colour

The shape

The breeze

The prayer

The grass

The earth

Sits our idea of God and our redemption, always that word

An idea of God, so close sometimes I can touch it

Then it disappears

But now I am not alone