One morning beside the mushrooms
where the wildflowers no longer grow,
I found a dead cat.
Pink collar, stiff body, blood painted across its fur.
I carried the cat to the last of the elderflowers.
I told myself foxes can’t stand elderflowers.
I woke in the night,
a dream of a fox sipping elderflower cordial.
In the alley there are cats crying.
In the alley there is a wall breaking apart
with the weight of a lilac bush,
roots creeping between bricks.
Where the wildflowers no longer grow
there are mushrooms and foxes.