I know its too earlier but we went looking
for bluebells, in the mud. Stopping by the channels
to watch the froth of green water
running from the hills.
I asked 'how thick do you think air is?'
With surety of childhood, 'like leather,' he replied.
'And what does the water sound like?'
'Knocking,' he said, and added, 'to get out.'
There in the songless wood
we found the un-necked clumps.
'I like bluebells,' he said, 'they remind me of home.'