photo by Luke Razzell
The snow is falling again.
I watch the moorhens
floating,
drifting in the dock.
They're always there,
together,
the two of them, dancing.
First away, a gentle radius,
then close in, feathers touching.
Lives entwined,
they lead each other.
Sometimes lost, one waits:
he held by the current
she by her search for bread;
each on their separate journeys.
They join again,
always finding home, rippling the water,
chasing and moving.
The snow is still falling.
I watch you playing Beethoven.
I know my moorings are here,
with you.
Finding home, entwined,
the two of us, dancing.
