Driving Back Alone from Mayo

No need for signposts
In a country crisscrossed
With trails of other journeys,
Winter sun at my back
Pushing me east.
I bless each familiar thing
And set my mind on constancy,
Telling myself stories we could become,
Re-inventing out history.
I was faithful, content,
Love made you articulate.
The fiction of what should have been
Is a map unfolding, a way home.