On the steep bridlepath I sense there beside me My shadow which skips as I stumble and sweat Brushing through leaves, across streams, over stiles To see where you lived, where you worked, where you might Still live in your house in the wind and the mist At the top of the ridge is your house in a sunclap A golden dog barks at the touch of a ghost, A looming familiar figure resentful That others possess every sill, every lintel But the ghost is not you but my deepening shadow My strung-out ambition, my urge to connect And say Yes, we live on in the handshake of memory, Remembering others we are never alone - And a cloud shrouds the sun And my shadow shuts down like a TV at bedtime