The Hearts Enclosure
My lines populate many more pages,
as unpeopled now as recorded long ago.
I remain true to that predicament
a National Census would bear this out.
Laughter runs sparse upon the moors.
Tracking down into the heart’s murmuring,
through the years’ undergrowth
I quest to locate the fabled surveyor’s peg.
The vista falls some distance ahead,
(as anticipated) a perspective that says:
All Dimensions Reduced.
Whatever it was I sought there
bought and sold a hundred times over.
No witness stepped forward nor confirmed
such information ever came my way.
The locals had either moved on
or reacted with an indifference to inquiry.
A riot of tangleweed and blackberry.
Something slips through ditchwater like
an escaped childhood.
Mystery Avenue sold off into uniform blocks
several relationships ago.
Belief Boulevard hangs as a draughtsman’s
impression on a twilight wall in a distant township.
A southern province
historically renowned for its granite architecture,
and the quality of its wrought iron balcony work.
Adventure like youth is something best left behind.