.
returning to my childhood home in thought
returning   to mallard quacks tolling
and the hour toiled                                    
                    by­ ever thirsty church bells
cold damp rock house with ammonites
and belemnites coiling in the walls
and a cooling ichthyosaur                                  
futilely trying to swim in the silty soil
struggling to catch prey                      
                      beneath the foundation
            its darkness is rummage
.
a flush lawn  planted nilly and obscene  
monkshood  mint  cotton grass and ling
warm mentions  an evening fire                 
                      and the family room
i'm mooding through the memory              
               and it grooms apart  organic
birthing  not  river  not  smoke
rat sized earwigs take to the air heat
over the boiling tar garage roof
and i return home back through time
child swinging on thick vines suspended
by the yew over the stream              
the willows dapple and paddle
the fir trees return                                          
fierce sproutings of involving shade
ridding the house                        
 of the intruder new extension                
riding time back                    
and the caravan my parents                          
            would later park on concrete
                             is swallowed
the storms of a bad year return the old wall
at the property edge
and the cottage reforms an ancient pace
                          with its surroundings
.
it's no longer my families claimed place
re-seemed with ghoulish history
the workhouse returns                      
           and files with hard poverty
the wall punches through                      
         in what will be the kitchen
and the cottage runs through long     
with the neighbours space
dormitory takes the whole upstairs length    
and the legend of the garment thief
drops ghost and rumour to live again
and then all this too flees out of history
.
rushing back through time                      
          and this all sinks into the levels
swamp life takes over
and the ammonites                            
           moisten with anticipation
prehistory is sprout   to begin
.

Life surges like a spring of water,
Babbling over stones,
As forget-me-nots and grasses
Bow and rise,
Painting luscious meadows
With green brushstrokes.

The ocean's breath transforms
Into splashes of lace at the shoreline,
Each a small kiss, briefly alive,
As waves thunder against rocks,
Eroding centuries in seconds,
While sculpting the ancient earth.

Memories drift by,
Stained with sunset,
A brief melancholic moment
Alighting on my fingertips
Before surrendering to the wind.

Night spills its ink across the sky
And stars pierce through,
Offering glimmers of hope
As suns continue to shine
Through the darkness.

©️Lizzie Bevis