Jenny Hockey
Auxerre
You wanted to show me a mountain
you saw when you were lost
yesterday. Today you are lost
all over again, but in this heat
I follow, wordless, as my sweat boils.
When you turn at a sign marked
Stele I know it is not the name of a place
for the sign is the wrong colour.
The road ahead is not a road.
I follow, wordless, as my sweat boils
At the fork I am all for the lower path,
more made-up, bending about a hill
down into a valley clutched between woods
where clipped grass at the kerbside
says private land, secret chateau.
Silent among bullet-pitted trees,
there are stones standing in wait,
a tale of execution etched into their granite.
Men felled on a day bright as this, names
I follow, wordless, as my sweat boils.
Page(s) 23
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