You call me, see the heron walk across the street,
plunging into the long green straggly weeds: Missing his lunch.
You call me, the terrapin peers out the pond: Doggy paddles and
touches a twig.
You call me, look up, two house-martins’ swoop under a canopy;
as one comes in, the other goes out: “Busy birds†you say.
You call me, count the carp
slapping against one another, for snippets of food
Their mouths make tunnels of O’s.
Whispering, you call me, pointing out the dragonfly; disguised
on a water lily: Skimming over the pond, settling on a stone.
You call me, crouching down with the crows’
crowding around us, we feed them our crumbs.
I call you, we bustle our way over the bridge
beckoning me, you’ve spotted a sparrow hawk!
swiftly he observes tourists’ sat along the water’s edge
“It took his lunch!†you say.
I call you, serese pink flowers, burst out from a
deep green bush: “Azaleas†you say
You call me, side by side, we listen to the
frogs’ belch and the clank of a gardener’s bucket.
I call you, a baby monkey grips onto it’s mother’s
tummy: Playing, hoping for a peanut or banana.
I call you, you, in the kitchen - a hiss and crunch
creep under the door.
I call you, you, in the living room - reading your
‘Woman’s own’, duvet neatly tucked.
I call you both, both of you, for a tight hug
you with your rough chin and you with your
cold smooth hands.