Poem: ‘Restoration’
Stephen Wilson, 4 November 1993
You must have escaped in a hurry dropping so many little intimacies from our lives – thermal vests, long johns, a lace camisole, a black bow-tie, a packet of Tampax on the floor beside the bed, my old tennis-shoes (were your backs done in too?).
I picture your arrival, through the rockery, sinking your feet into heather, shrugging off rhododendron branches, strands of honeysuckle;...