Some day the rain shall tell me I should leave
Or the shortening days set off a bell
Quiet at first, insidious in the blood
So I will pack
Searching the sky for clues
The distant shimmer and blur that might be rain
Glance at the house
And set out by a route that gradually
Creates itself but will not turn on itself
Though I don’t know the city at the end.
I am a journeyman, I learn my trade
From hints and shallow inscriptions on low stones
And from the linking of the bones.
I am used to wandering
I travel light, I know the signs
The questioning cat, the blackened oak
The broken bridge, the river in spate
The posts turned round, the embered fire
Light in the sky and razor wire.
And so the stages wait, or maybe indifferent
I mark them with my feet for a few minutes
But swimming with a river in the mind
I grope and stumble, being alive and blind.
A journeyman was an apprentice craftsman who travelled from place to place working with established craftsmen.
copyright Simon Banks 2012