Tracking

To find what you saw, I went to harbour towns
Where you might have been years ago.
Every windy quay had weed and pain
Growing through the stones,
Each bollard was rusting in sad silent rain.

The ships came and went, come and go as always.
Once you must have been there as well
And I always heard echoes of slamming doors,
You in splashing laugh
Although I don’t really remember yours.

All the ports of the Baltic, of France
And of England, of Ireland and Belgium,
Scandinavia too:
I came there looking
For memories and traces of you.

Sometimes I found you in other people
Who might have seen what you saw.
Recently I’ve stopped looking for you. As it is:
We can not go on
Meeting each other like this.

Not meeting each other like this.