Her tree still sheds its leaves, their fall
makes grief and grieving tangible,
and where a cast-iron drainpipe sleeves
rainwater poured from rotted eaves
an old grief, making water sing,
dies in the broken guttering,
and where her dormer window mists
she ghostwrites with her fingertips
or doodles breath as scrims of rain
bring gusts and squalls, stir up again
leaves falling through unfallen leaves
and this is how the greengage grieves.
