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ReconnectingThe key sticks in the lock as it always does
the back door creaks as usual
someone has sorted the post
put bluebells in a pickle jar
a note is propped against the yellow jug
our old brown teapot sits beside the mugs
the kettle is switched off at the plug
a crumpled spider lies behind the biscuit tin
we listen to the house settling itself
making room for us again
sunshine stretches out on the rug
the open window stares into the distance
the grandfather clock needs winding.
Just for now, let the house feel the surge of sap
the pull of the earth
the weight of its dreams.
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