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