Palimpsests

High above Aberystwyth
the woods are still deep
in autumn's copper petals
and woodsmoke hangs in the air

in your childhood garden
you laugh up at me,
wildly scattering the apple leaves
we have just raked into a pile and

somewhere in wartorn London
two young men, brothers,
are scrunching leaves in St James' Park
and woodsmoke hangs in the air