Let be the laughter in the hanging gardens
and the dial ablaze, the green man
flourishing his sleeves and up to mischief,
where the cat extends and rolls its silver fur
across a sun-spot, where all points of light
play leap-frog dazzle in a water-bowl
and everything is animation, interlace,
the best of being here, a setting-down
on lease from shade and shadow, out
into the primal space, the freely-given
with the cost not counted, where the two of us
lie down together, laughing, and let be.
from New and Selected Poems (Peterloo, 2004), © John Mole 2004, used by permission of the author.