December Rain (for Ele)

This is the face of rejection showing the kindness of indifference.
All we need is sustenance, something to keep us upright
to manoeuvre the days of wistful agreement,
the year's old ache in the bone, flogged by the old sod Time.

Something is coming to life though we cannot define its form.
The goodwill of tired people navigating sodden streets
hangs magically in the air like a child's sob -
we don't want to see the form of the thing that is dying.

This December rain, the air's dismal aptitude
gives us just the right grief with which to meet the year's end,
the quiescence of the new in which to pursue
again our faint and fleeting dreams.

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