Day 29: The last toast

Peter Greenaway, 'Water Wrackets', 1975

I drink to this narrow house;
to the river that sweeps our dreams
away each night;
to the Downs that hold us
in their green embrace.
I drink to the bone-white moon;
to the flint walls and twittens
of this town I call home.
And to you I raise my glass -
to your sharp profile, bright laugh.
To the warmth of your hands and heart.
To the roots, the shoot, the green flame,
the never-lasting bloom.