I still come here sometimes, where the lane turns
a little on itself and then narrows;
the teashop still stands, a gas stove now burns
charcoal’s banished, also the radio’s
replaced by screens; various sizes and types –
television, smartphone, palmtop gizmos.
Only humans retrace their steps in life.
I can’t honestly say that I retrace.
True, I come to stand beneath your window
in some vague effort to find my exact place,
to find a peg again from long ago;
you’ve moved and I have too, nothing stops
and it’s both pleasant and fitting that it’s so.But some evenings I still walk to the teashop.