New Year’s Day



On New Year’s Day I walked the old tow path along the Thames.
Well-dressed couples, well-meaning, all their resolutions
wrapped around them, cuddled and pledged that this one, yes,
would be the best.

For two long hours I stepped on twigs and roots,
catching the breath of fog and mulch, the horizon
a smudge of trees and cold cloud.
Mud underfoot. Grey slaps of water.

On the opposite bank, old willow trees
slid their naked fingers
into the tide.

A body
swollen and still, lay trapped in the tangle
the hair pulled downstream
like arrows pointing
to a journey interrupted.