I wonder if the others do this,
The disconnected,
The dispossessed,
Searching always for some means to re-attach.

At first I chose to see a glimpse of heron on my walks
As a calling-card from you,
Somehow fitting in its slender elegance.

But sadly herons are quite rare.

And so I thought the swifts might speak for you as well,
As witty flicks of humour in your name.

Then, as I walked today along the hedgerows,
On Fathers’ day,
I saw a poppy head,
Propped, like a lipsticked grin,
Upon a fencepost,
A botanical Cheshire cat.

Perhaps it had been spun there by a passing cyclist,
Or placed there by another walker,
Sad at its beheading.

Or brought there, just to lift my heart, by you.
Knowing, as of course you do,
My special love of poppies.

So now I’ve herons, swifts and poppies,
Carrying your message, your connection, back to me
From some unlikely astral plane!

But
if it lifts my heart

and it does,

what harm?