the tarnished silver of the Queen Anne’s lace in the winter light

tinkle as the first trains go by

last night’s frost has made them brittle

this long loneliness rushing past will not last 

at each stop some who have travelled through the night, half-asleep, get off

yes, it is true, others get on 

but they are awake?have somewhere to get to 

have paid their fare, 

such thrift, the nothing required. by grief

their hearts glitter with ice 

in God’s time  they will turn and return 

as we do to the coffee on the table

the jam, its bread, 

the slow drift of our fingers from those of the dead