By the gas works and the giant Sainsbury’s
Blocking the winter sky like a shroud
The boxed hatchbacks swarm like larvae.
Though smothered, she is not dead
She was merely exiled beneath the ground –
Sleeping fields that have never seen a lark
Acres of concrete spreading like a wound.
She springs from the earth near the car park
For an age, she waited, like a rumour.
Glimpsed in the flash of a kingfisher
She is the queen of hawthorn and alder
The goddess – here, you can almost touch her.
She threads through ash and willow weeping.
She was not dead. She was merely sleeping.