"Michael." she called from the gate near the bridge.
"Michael." again.  Me ?  Her ?
I caught my breath and let go my spade;
brain fused, I stood still, shocked rigid.

I couldn't quite see her behind the hedge
but that call I'd heard before.
Breathing resumed and consciousness weighed
an event I had not envisaged.

Many a time while I worked on my plot
she had called me to come back home.
Now could a miracle really occur
and I be no longer alone ?

Crazy to think it for even a second;
just wishing can't make things real.
After four years though, fantasy beckoned
and my one wound could heal.

Then the young man who had started plot eight
walked quickly toward the gate.
Another Michael, a different wife
and no return to life.