kingdom

When there is nothing to hear, no character to compare yourself to
There is nothing to remind you of certain times, certain faces
You climb down stairs and the light thickens as you reach the window
There where your jacket and hat both hang

Tea tastes the same, there are no variants,
flowers stick out of vases on angles trying to catch your attention
with their deep colours gazing sternly towrad you,
the iris sword tries to catch you with its green blade and lilac handle

You know that the wrens and sparrows would be jumping from twig to twig
Their wings too fast to see, their heads cocked to one side as they move amongst blossom
That is their domain, neither on the ground, nor in the sky
Within the blossom of the fruit trees like victorian lovers, like school girls and gardeners

Yours is within the walls, within silence, watching dust float in the angles of sunshine
Making pots of tea, smoking cigarettes, coughing loudly enough for the neighbours to sometimes hear
This is perhaps how they know you are still alive
You often look at your jacket and coat, and they look back at you, politely and expecting nothing