We’ve past the first anniversary of our move.

No house filled with 30 or more people;
or gaggle of children tearing up the place;
or huge buffet groaning under
the weight of vegan, vegetarian, and meat dishes.
Or cherry tree preparing us for forgiveness

by blooming and snowing petals
before her mushy flesh and pits litter
half of the garden for a month.
Or neighbours licking their lips
remembering cherry picking parties
that turned into pies and wine.

A quiet flat. A sleeping boy
Orderly brick courtyard.
More light. Crocuses.
Daffodils. A few
birthdays on the horizon
slow as this solitary year.