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