A red watering can   rests
in the greenhouse          cobalt bounces
             off its plastic roof.

Churr of birdsong        shape and shadow skim
      soaring light      Iona is calling

On the ruined convent wall Sheela-na-Gig parts her labia
displays      our doorway         to life
Be like the watering can     she says       be a blank page
I'll write you when I can.