Winter Hill

I drove up the hill to your old house
The sun behind me and in the branches
Green and golden
But it’s the snow I remember
Came to see you, knees still aching
From the six or seven-hour bus ride
And we stood out
In the courtyard, watching the sky come down
And the snow
Draped its silences over the following years
And when we awoke
How the thorns had grown
Another century when I came here
Full of something I thoughtlessly imagined
Made me grown-up
And later wrote off
And I slept there, on your hard floor
It sounds like something people make up
But I dreamed you
And the twisting corridors to your door
And today
With my kids in the back, a ridiculous detour
I realised
That I’m dreaming still
I drove up the hill to your old house
The sun behind me, slowly setting
And I miss you