woman with yellow umbrella
That’s my wife
suitably all in black
at the top of the stairs
in the snow.
We have come from the graveyard
where her mother is buried,
our first visit since the funeral
some twenty years ago.
Time flies, tempus fugit,
no matter how you say it.
However we are happy enough to be here
happy enough to be anywhere in fact
extinct volcanoes maybe,
but still together, survivors,
a winter couple.
I go on chatting
although I no longer have
anything I want to say to her
and she nods and smiles
as if she hadn’t stopped listening
aeons and aeons ago
but we are still there (here?) for each other,
I remember taking these pictures,
the strange, lurid light,
my wife in black with that yellow umbrella
and the snow falling gently in large white flakes
faintly falling through the universe,
like the descent of their last end,
upon all the living and the dead.