Would

That  Winter, the mist would hang light, traveling

softly, like yellowness through a wedding photo.

The careless cold would colour button noses and retarded

hearts would be happy to hide inside oversize hoodies.

Out on the streets the children would race each other. I'd watch them from

my fogged-up window. They wouldn't

see me.

That winter, you'd be old  and I'd

be old and counting.

Somewhere a dog would chase it's tail in

mild confusion, waking up the sedate streetlights.

They'd blink in wonder

They'd blink in wonder!

Inside my room He'd  come over to tell me I should draw the blinds before I catch a cold or before

the children mess up our window-pane, tracing smiley faces.

Across the town, She'd  be pouring you tea, talking of winter and

warmth. It'd be winter and you'd be warm.

Of course  you'd be warm.

You'd be telling each other old  stories and She'd  ask you

of your childhood  love. You'd

shake your head and laugh at how  little you remember. 

By then it'd get late and the children in hoodies would disappear

outside my window. He'd  ask me to draw the blinds one more time.

This time I'd listen.

He'd  ask me if my throat hurts and I'd laugh...

He'd laugh with me, over something we both won't understand.

Between the two of us, a cup of coffee would spill , like

so many other things.

That winter, we would all  be laughing.

And we would not 

understand ...