Leaves
22 May 1998

The ballot-slips are counted in

And somewhere someone’s saying yes.

Even the plane tree’s drop-earrings

Have almost reached their seventy-percent

Of newly-broken foetus-leaves

In the last May bursts of spring.

Till now there’s only been a fist,

Half giving and half holding fast:

A green knot slowly untying

Itself from the hardened winter nut

And the half-hearted rust remains

Of another autumn’s dying.

But now the planes are suddenly spread.

Over the bus as it rounds Hyde Park,

Down border-lanes, and further west

Leaves and scraps of paper cluster

In clouds and tides to carry

In light like a welcome guest.