Visiting

I have been to the land where they stare
into the distance and remember the past
like it is now. They reside in a country

where they see your face by their bedside,
hear your voice, answer your questions,
but once you leave they swear you've not been.

One calls you over. Asks for your help. She says
she’s worried about Linda. Doesn’t like her being left
on her own. I think you think I’m someone else

you say. Do you know who I am? Yet another says,
‘Can you help me?’ She’s pulling the sheets up
over her knees. These people, you realise,

can’t see the wood for the trees. They stare
and stare at distant memories. One waves.
Good God! you think, they can’t even see the trees.