Sitting next to each other.
Lying next to each other.
Used to be lovers.
Maybe one mother.

Has everything been said?
Is it a cosy silence?
A break from quiet lead.
At home
In bed

Same again?
Is said

A grey ballet
In low light
The fighting spirits walked out
Looking ahead together
Seeing nothing

Has everything been seen?

We’ve always been here
Passing hands
Net curtains obscuring the view
Not me or you

Our adventurous paths converging to familiar journeys
A repeating habit
Changing the grass from on high
Where we’ve been and where we’re going
You and I
A slow March
Dressed smart
Down the middle
Of our path