On a pilgrimage

A few miles up the road
From the city glinting in the setting sun,
I drive slowly in this practical car,
Upon my impractical mission,
With my friends who will not fathom
Why this drive, at random,
But I am waiting for a glimpse that will suffice
Of the calm, composed, unforgotten one

These gentle roads she's travelled, often fast
These roads the master painted in my head
Once she drummed her fingers on a pillow
Making etchings in my heart
Adolescent longing didn't play a part,
Strangely sexless, like an admired photograph
Unattainable yet always the One.

Shhhhhhhhh whisper the tyres,
Along the silent roads where no one creeps,
And the city lights up beneath,
The road holds her secret, close and still.

I meander for an hour,
I get lost on purpose, searching to find my peace,
My friend spotted flowers and rubbish on the road,
I wonder if that's the fateful place,
And I still have no closure.

Rest, my memory,
Rest in peace,
There shall be no lese-majeste
As I hear the cruise ships far below
Their horns signal it's time to go
The medieval village is all aglow
The journey is not in vain
Better than finding her slain
By some ordinary rock or stone
In my head she's alive,
Smiling, laughing,
Smoothing her dress and getting ready to drive...

A line of lights in my mirror
A darkening coastline with unmindful evening diners
We descend gently to the beach
And my memory sings itself to sleep

Good night Angel,
Good night, the road,
Grace is preserved.
I have been here,
I have paid my respects,
She sleeps somewhere,
Protected by her rocky kingdom,
The bluest of blue seas,
And gulls skimming quietly.