Other People’s Trees

Your neighbours’ trees should please
more than your own. Beyond your hedge,
each garden breathes into the next.
What’s theirs is ours; what’s mine is his:
magpie and collared dove can’t see a boundary
only that blossom falls across a fence,
spent leaves collect against your door.
Even the plain drab conifer blocks out
a light that in its turn obscures a star.
Your car is still, beyond the escallonia.
Defer that plan to pave the drive: forget
the pressure-washer and embrace the dirt.
Plant trees. Divert the eye. Bring evening on:
its brimming dusk, one blackbird’s song…