A Hollow Tree

Late May, though still

As bleak as March.

Sunlight coming and going

In this uncertain season.

Swift showers swept aside

For rainbows -

No sooner seen than gone.

Halfway along a green lane

A downpour

Made us seek shelter.

There was only a hollow tree,

Few leaves and fewer branches;

A thing barely living.

It seemed so natural a home.

Squeezed together in that space

I traced the raindrops on your face

With a careful finger.

Breeze, birdsong, and your whispered sigh

Needed no further discussion:

The drenched day slowly dissolving;

Your cold hand clamped in mine.

Peter Holliday