Lintels

That lintel swaying down across the gap,
a stone slab, whitish, ripped
for a doorstep;
old brown hinges
raked against gravity,
saplings hang at your eyeball,

migrating bubbles of birds roll round between green poles,
      the old dry tracks across the haphazard ball,
the river beaches’ drift in February’s flood –

you’ve twice arrived at least –
      when science gave you breath
and you got out of childhood’s ward

and one afternoon when fortune took your car
      away from the monstrous, charging lorries
into the soft-enough barrage –

      Life's earned your thanks —

it is indeed a lucky man who gets to this valley

           and meets the grateful paths