On Hampstead Heath

The beauty of light
           or of a single solitary
colour that flames
           in the eye
rose or daffodil
           under a blue-grey sky

and the gleaming scales
           of a salmon moving
through the still waters
           a shadow among shadows

crocuses and snowdrops
           in the lush green spaces
between the thickets
           of ancient woodland
a natural Jackson Pollock
           with a loose hand
broad sweeps of the brush
           and delicate dribbles of detail
the texture of love
           at the tips of one’s fingers
beauty infused
           with warm breath

Hampstead where Keats once lived
           alive with the sound of barking dogs
and the cries of children playing
           kites hovering above the trees
and the coming and going
           of generation after generation
we who inherit the earth
           and marvel at clusters of birth
maturity and decay
           the known feelings that we share
the sight and sound of love
           and the silence that dwells within

John Lyons