I recall the yellowing day
Coming down the years
When idleness was all
And never enough for us.

Whole afternoons we rose
Cidering, barley wining,
Beering our laughter to echo
Down these years of hangovers.

I am there again,
Standing alone I stare
As a cloud falls over the moon
Before four o'clock
And the sky not yet dark.

I am weary of watching
Swift passing clouds,
The atmosphere, a smokescreen
For a world shielding itself
From a malevolent wrathful creator.

This is a cold time.
We embrace Death,
Our lips touch his
In a frigid kiss.

See, nothing of your love abides now
On my imperfect shadow.

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