Along the lane
towards Diddling
you stopped

and looked
at the church
on the horizon

between
the hedgerows
beneath

the blue
and white
clouded sky

Jane
stood next to you
her hand

holding yours
the softness
of her skin

against yours
her dark hair
tied

by a green ribbon
one of my favourite sights
she said

the church
becoming
more visible

the closer you get
her voice disturbed
birdsong

from the hedgerows
a blue ***
took flight

the flutter
of small wings
we never had hedgerows

in London
you said
no blue *** birds

no wide fields
or Downs
just streets

and houses
and pavement
and grass

around our flats
where pigeons
or sparrows

settled
for thrown out
bread

from windows above
Jane gazed at you
her dark eyes

focusing
I’d hate that
she said

I love my countryside
and fields
and birds

and open sky
she sniffed
the air

and you walked on
along the lane
she pointed out

wildflowers
and hedgerow plants
and talked

of the farmhand
who died
when his tractor

turned over
in a field
and the first time

she remembered
visiting
the small church

and her father
holding her high
above his head

so she could see
the expanse
of the Downs

and you listened
to her words
the language

holding you
and drawing you in
her lips opening

and closing
her summer dress
moving

as she walked
her sandaled feet
treading the lane

you wanted
to captured it all
to recall it

years later
all over
again.