Tarred and feathered by

The first raindrops I

Set off along the track

Past the lime-kiln and

The quarries deserted

As Pompeii after the

Ashfall towards the

Pilgrimage route where

Thousands had walked and

Some had died in the

famine years when

Faith was their only

Currency and the

Landlords took even

That in rent

I Twelve O'Clock

Standing on the

Platform among

Others like me

Who had missed

The connection

Between memory

And history

Waiting for the

Train that never

Comes from the

Station of the

Lost

II Four O'Clock

The river level

With the fields now

After the evening

Thunderstorm when

Everything floats

Even the dreams

We had anchored

Carefully in

The mudflats of

Childhood

III Eight O'Clock

Rain on the roof

Like footsteps

In ten years time

When I will look

Back from some

Foreign balcony

At this moment

Of departure

And wonder why

I ever left