It’s hard now: it’s colder, and I know it is.
You’ll sit at the quay and compare the sea and sky
And find no horizon to colour which from which,
Nor a single shade of grey to choose between them.
I wish I could join you for a while, beside the seafront.
If I could sit by that bench, it would be
Not so bad. We’d mock the seagulls. We’d throw
Armfuls of laughter at them, into the sea,
Across the expanse of the open quietness
Like leftover chips, cast wide, licked with salt.
We’d catch glances of each other, the way
A stray chance of sun dazzles off the water,
As the friendly day we wasted chased itself
Right down to the edge of the pier,
Threw itself into the sea, laughingly.
You can probably feel the emptiness sat next to you.
I get that. And I know this almost-peace
Is yours, for now. We’re only a little way
Down the waterfront, you know, idling to ourselves:
Waiting for you to leave the bench, and join us.