I'd know them anywhere!

Some come to the door, leave a few footprints,

and others leave nothing, no sign, no mark.

It's clear how heavy or light the traffic’s been

from the way the dust’s disturbed in the dark,

from the snagged and torn strips of hanging bark

the eddies of crushed grass smells that rise and spin;

from the fireflies which leave en masse with their sparks;

the mesh of undergrowth - as it pales and thins.

And whether you’re here or not, this is the thing -

I still know your footprints, your touch, your heart;

and your distant trail weaves into my mornings.

The click of the door as it shuts and I start,

wherever I am, the middle, end or beginning;

and you are, for that matter, on your part.

The title is the hardest part

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.