The two grey men sitting

The two grey men sitting on the park bench
look away from one another
across the scuffled snow.
Both have hats, neither wears gloves.
Scarves are tucked into overcoats.

Their hands must be cold
and their feet too in the thin leather shoes.

Then they turn and look towards each other;
their eyes smile
and their fingers touch.
The ice-blue air is suddenly less bitter.

Tomorrow they will be here again.

Footprints

The pairs of footprints began in parallel

Sometimes overlapping in the overnight snow

I traced them across the dips and hollows

From where I stood next to the hilltop tree

On the last ascent to the cliff edge they parted

Until they each disappeared alone

I watched and waited until the last light faded

And the snow returned and covered the tracks