Things That Are Lost

My Mother teaches me the fading skills

How to clean fish, plait garlic, draw pheasants

How to distinguish wading birds,

How to make linen lace.

I know her ache, because it is in me

I try to teach anyone who’ll listen 

wild flowers; their legends, properties, names

I do this in full love of the fresh world.

But a voice says

Lose things, forget them, let them go

See all things always the first time

Un-named. In wonder.

By Kerry Hardie.