Her tree still sheds its leaves, their fall

makes grief and grieving tangible,

and where a cast-iron drainpipe sleeves

rainwater poured from rotted eaves

an old grief, making water sing,

dies in the broken guttering,

and where her dormer window mists

she ghostwrites with her fingertips

or doodles breath as scrims of rain

bring gusts and squalls, stir up again

leaves falling through unfallen leaves

and this is how the greengage grieves.