But God, the orchard there, the cowboy maize
The mountainous and ringworm-bearing cows
And spindled irrigation systems in
The shallow valleys that, to me, were old
As dinosaurs, potent and wholly new
As rabbit skulls, train tracks and feathered eggs
As tattered Union flags from VE Day
In dormant grates; that loping Giant Grim
My grandfather with growl and crow-wing robe
I leaned to move beneath his radar and
So traced a circle 'neath a Buddleia’s skirt
Where I could play and where the first true shock
Of chlorophyll-like, gyroscopic, wild
Imagination struck me. Call that home