I waited, while writing

I waited, while writing, not knowing you waited too,
and then walked the dappled railway line again,
but slowly, letting the engine of my desire for you
draw me gently up the steady, shaded incline.
Thinking that last days are longest, I found your note
the handwriting unknown and the ink spikey and sharp
but the unheard voice of the words you wrote


The 4 pm sun was honey on your skin
And your pulled-back hair could not