Waiting always forms part of any journey. Here, it is me waiting for Jane and the end of her trip.

Waiting at the station for you.
The blue shirt is not you,
nor the striding woman.
The tight face and make up would not suit,
and your family is grown.
You would not hold the hand of another man
so that is not you, and you will not be sad
or walking lonely on the street
so that is not you.
You are not homeless or careless,
when you come, you will be you.


Go on, tell me something, you know you want to.

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