When there were no blazing lights
I could linger in the garden
or stand at the bedroom window
and look to the starry heavens
semé of the constellations
of the Crab and Cassiopeia
of the Herdsman and the Ram
But now I am blinded by lights

If we had a secret garden
we could sit on moonless nights
watching Pegasus fly
or Orion raise his club
to threaten Aldebaran
or the circumpolar bears
on their never-ending round
But we have no secret garden

If we had a private island
we could lie beneath the stars
and let the warm air caress
this unencumbered skin
whilst passion awakens passion
the moon says yes to us
and stars say yes indeed
But we have no private island

Jonathan Atkinson
June 2019