This is not a poem
but a picture that I see
of our trip to find a forest
but there was sign to see
but I did see a chaffinch
singing in the tree.
This is a road map
with the northern track
that continued into distant green
across the expanding green.
each road we tried in turn
returned us to our dream.
And this is a picture of you
adamant to tell
was it at the bottom of Bower Hill
where the horizon fell.
While I ask a stranger
Walking through a door
where is Epping forest
but he wasn’t all that sure.
We climbed up Station Hill
Searching for the town
Finding a little bakery shop
Where we settled down
You conversed with two old ladies
waiting for a bus
they had passed it recently
in a kind of rush.
Behind where you were sitting
a mirror on a wall
catching my reflection
in the shadow growing tall.
You slouching in your chair
you engaged in conversation
we’re looking for Epping Forest?”
we came here via Epping station.
