Wandering within borders and time Traversing clandestine systems Migration has a host of companions In another continent A dash to a different country Down the road to take away To a well-lit screen of people in boxes A flight of fancy, a train of thought I asked the flower about the intensity of her short life Then a tree put the question to me A stone posed the tree the same My take away turned (contents consumed in minutes) interrogating again, that familiar refrain how the plastic it came in would persist through millennia Then I walked into the cemetery No-one but a distant figure was among the tombstones; all facing south, down the hill, some with daffodils, daisies most with faded colourful plastic flowers Less than a century and lichen, weather, dirt had rubbed down the names from the angular stone blocks Some leaning, some forgotten Under windy springtime sun Stepping, wondering where we go when we return
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