1. Sunlight br br There was a sunlit absence. br The helmeted pump in the yard br heated its iron, br water honeyed br br in the slung bucket br and the sun stood br like a griddle cooling br against the wall br br of each long afternoon. br So, her hands scuffled br over the bakeboard, br the reddening stove br br sent its plaque of heat br against her where she stood br in a floury apron br by the window. br br Now she dusts the board br with a goose's wing, br now sits, broad-lapped, br with whitened nails br br and measling shins: br here is a space br again, the scone rising br to the tick of two clocks. br br And here is love br like a tinsmith's scoop br sunk past its gleam br in the meal-bin. br br 2. The Seed Cutters br br They seem hundreds of years away. Brueghel, br You'll know them if I can get them true. br They kneel under the hedge in a half-circle br Behind a windbreak wind is breaking through. br They are the seed cutters. The tuck and frill br Of leaf-sprout is on the seed potates br Buried under that straw. With time to kill, br They are taking their time. Each sharp knife goes br Lazily halving each root that falls apart br In the palm of the hand: a milky gleam, br And, at the centre, a dark watermark. br Oh, calendar customs! Under the broom br Yellowing over them, compose the frieze br With all of us there, our anonymities.