A Wall in Naplesby Andrew MotionI have forgotten whatever it was

　　I wanted to say. Also the way I wanted

　　to say it. Form and Music.

　　Perhaps it had something to do with - no,

　　that's not it. More likely, I should just

　　look at whatever there is

　　and fix myself to the earth. This wall,

　　I mean, which faces me over the street.

　　Smooth as a shaven chin

　　but pocked with the holes that scaffolders left

　　and flicked with an overflow-flag. Which still

　　leaves pigeon-shit, rain-streaks, washing -

　　or maybe the whole thing's really a board

　　where tiny singing meteors strike.

　　How can we tell what is true? I rest my case.

　　I rest my case and cannot imagine a hunger

　　greater than this. For marks.

　　For messages sent by hand. For signs of life.