by E A M Harris
Just the stalking cat watched us depart
Across the grey town morning, fast, our flung
on scarves and coats hung shoulder thwart and harped
on milder dawns, when they and we were young;
for time giv’n time to play will pluck apart
the strongest twill; and let this heavy air
pass by, and weigh its load across our path
and, given time, ice up our will to dare.
Uphill our panting raised in broken wake,
mists, trailing cobble-scratching boots to make
their whitely hanging point about the chill.
We were alone, we wanted not to go
but we had knit this dawn in bond, and so
we crossed that slag-grey Sunday dressed to kill.
E A M Harris has been writing poetry for many years and recently branched out into fiction.