I wake up with cuts on my hands
from trying to open
something, I don’t remember
what or what was inside. It is so, so
cold. You are so, so
much cheaper than central heating
and miles away.
Last night we lost an hour, it fell away like a shell
we’d been given, like a skin.
I pick a flower
that might be the last that will come
from last year’s gardeners.
I know we made no arrangements.
No snow here, just damp purple fingers,
the leaves in the rain, the rain in the leaves.
We counted from two to one together.
The difference between us is:
I wouldn’t build
a bridge for you,
I’d turn to ice
so you could walk across.