I have shrunk with age and grief
I am not sure I have a soul left to steal

He has his mother’s nose
a family resemblance in outline

Our weather-proof coats
sort of match
hooded against the torrent

Deepest blue obscures into black
on the inside
the lack of detail gives the impression
my head exists in space
like a hologram
or a dark snow globe

The mountain behind looks unreal
a photo-shop composite
complete with derelict shelter

Only his hand on my shoulder
instills solidarity
and cohesion

The hailstorm has all but subsided
leaving us a little bruised
and buffeted

There will be better days
and worse
for certain

It’s in the nature of ice
when the stone grows too heavy
it cannot be sustained in mid air

I look to you
for confirmation
I am still alive