Its grim plume sits ahead in the vale

between two hills of the park

I’m not looking for any more fog

in this life and yet here it is ahead

waiting for me to walk through it

Entering its moist shadows,

expecting a rebuke for old sins,

my wish in the wet cool grey

against my face is that she has

stoked the fire and lit

the lavender candle by the window

where we can sit in silence and watch

the hanging of the fog from afar

We will keep the stories we have told

between us and let the sadness move on