Philip: As much out of curiosity as anything else, I visited the Tesco car park site on the banks of the Taff on June 25th, with my iPhone as a notebook, and mailed myself these notes.

(day one)

Zinc-scaly fence post
patterned as if hammered into shape.
wave of weeds breaks up against it.
of bramble flowers and Queen Anne's Lace.

At intervals,
these small green windowless bunkers,
Rat traps
primed for killing.
Border posts.

The staff smokers' hut
in moulded plastic -
decommissioned trolley kennel.
Park your old bad habits here.

A line of desire
to the acutest corner
in deep undergrowth. What’s
to desire here? Mud. A high fence. Yet
the path is worn as if the legions tramped this way

Most light at ground level
held in the leaves of ground ivy,
bright this gloomy afternoon
against wet mulch.
Trees not quite grown apart or saplings,
not coherent as a hedge yet not
themselves quite, and yet
not come into their own.
Can you imagine what their own would be?

The land of Hinter
is an almost unmapped undiscovered zone.
Its independence depends

on its not being part of anybody's
I might destroy it
just by looking
just by thinking
breathing saying
just by you listening

The bamboo grove:
clumps leaving inner rooms
like wicket fences, the abandoned hamlet,
walls of wattle with its daub leached clean away.

These secret places
in a public space, that someone, or
more likely some two, would have marked
in invisible ink made of sweat, tears and sweet-sourest

bodily fluids,
on the map of their lives
as their own.