for Susan*

He stood there in the card shop
finding it hard to decide
between a Chinese rose,
a flock of starlings,
a river scene in summer . . .

They all had printed blank inside
upon their cellophane wrappers.

He felt blank inside
when it came to words.

How do you say
(after twenty-six years)
I love you,
with that tremor and thrill
he remembered when,
stopping the car
between Holt and the sea,
he had looked into those still
jade green eyes, and told her so.

So he choose Tropical Birds in a Landscape
Jan van Kessel the Elder (1628-79).

It was Chaucer’s Technicolor Dream.
 A Parliament of Fowles no less
who *welcome somer, with your sonne softe,
Wel han they cause for to gladen ofte,
Sith ech of hem recovered hath hys make
Ful blissful mowe they synge when they awake.