Heybrook

I took the long road,
out through Hollacombe,
past the new builds.
It cost time
but then it's the first time
I've driven to Wembury
since the crash,
when we slipped
like butter across the junction,
young lambs bleating in the back.
Thank god for dash cams,
caught apologising on camera
for a crash I didn't cause.  
My heart has always been
a decoration for my throat,
and worse still,
I couldn't go to
who I'd gone to,
couldn't fall
where I'd fallen,
howl in the green space
as if it's boundless and whole.  
If I could wait a few days,
if he could've.
I took the long road
and on the way back,
accidently,
took the old one,
hands trembling at Heybrook,
mind colliding with roadsigns
'I can't' and 'I don't want to',  
vulnerabilities I normally
beat black and blue and crumple
into suitcases of my past.  
But Wembury happened,
due to all the strength
that comes with keeping mum,  
humming riptides,  
supressing the shape
of their blue car
as a shadow in the side window.