On the way to St James
you fell asleep
and leaned towards me.
An inch of space separated us
When you weren’t asleep, you were the DJ
providing the playlist.
One of the songs was This Is the Day 
this is the day your life will surely change.

On the tramp you walked so bloody fast
in your blue Macpac jumper
frizzy hair
long legs
—maybe it was the caffeine pills.

I felt a need to keep up with you.
I walked like a man on the run
except I was running towards something
I think it was your sense of humour
that broke through to me.
I remember I was rambling on 
about the stars.
Some people respond with a state of wonder, 
others with fear 
—and you said 
“What about a state of indifference?”
And shot me a bright look. 

I couldn’t sleep that night.
I was seeing colours.
In the morning, I offered you coffee.
There were wild horses at Anne Hut.

“See you on the ferry,” you said
and I did see you on the ferry
and we stayed up all hours
despite post-tramp exhaustion
playing cards, 
grinning like thieves.
I didn’t ever want that ferry
to reach the shore.

Maybe it’s too late now
but every time I see you, you say 
“Good to see you.
Good to see you.”
And I remember St James.

Featured photo by Vladimir Vujeva on Unsplash.


In a dream, you saw a way to survive, and you were filled with joy.


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