Arenys de Mar
a wide electric gate to remove your wood
workshop from Jan’s sight. the dog
barked often. space for two cars,
sometimes cars. always the old motorbike
and the multiple trophies. a windsurf board.
a dark door to the cleaner house and, before
everything else, a concave Optimist reclined
on the wall exhibits their medals and them –
a couple of photographs. the stairs, up, green
and white ceramic triangles. the spiders.
we could follow up the steps, consider the tall
plant which will soon challenge the angled
skylight. we could rush to the garden door,
meet the ageing olivera by the four mosaics
of the seasons. remember the eucaliptus there.
the wood hut, the legs you built to lift it
from the grass, also gone. sitting on its limited
veranda, you told me what to do with you –
at the back of the house, in the darker garden,
your ashes seep the roots of my pine tree, pi.