is hazy as a London fog
she leaves him with mirth
the streets are morgues
and smiles are hidden
behind masks worn

darkness sets in
months grow longer
as the spring grass
and liberties are shorn
for a spell, the stars forget

that night has yet to bring the day
to demise –
in seclusion
and so, they dance in his eyes
as they shine

he gazes at the glass
and he holds
until she passes
and her downy fluff disappears
like a snow squall