Plot (Poetry)

She’s saving him a place beside her —
here — not too far from the fence
and as close as she could get
to a substantial tree — a little bit of shelter
from the weather, where the path curves carefully
round nearer to the living
where houses overlook, their lighted windows mark
squares of comfort — stretch dark shadows to a neutral grey.

He visits every week and knows each stone
that neighbours hers — those quiet names familiar
seem like any long-established street in any town —
for none of these would chose to move away
here’s peace — the boundaries permanent — a firm
commitment to the patient ground, well-tended, and
if they could recommend this spot they would —
add row on row of fresh-turned flower beds.