On the motorway
a signpost
to the place where last I left you

Behind a trap of traffic cones,
and excavated road-works
the junction lay empty and irrelevant

But I saw you there
in the spring evening
beneath the stone and clay and roses

I thought to sink into the rich deep earth
to find the rambling silk of your voice
and embrace you in your long stillness

Yet pulled away through these dark diggings
Improvements you will never see
ways you’ll never know by name

I trace my travelling years
And lose the thread of our short remembered days