A meditative tune is worked by the piano; the backdrop is a damp northern street, lit by sodium lights at dusk
Caught again by the snow, as on that evening in the vicarage b&b, on the moors above Bradford
When the cold iron railings, and the barred gate, were our only forms of security
Slower times, sadder times, darker times, times more hopeless than we can care to imagine
As we broke bread, on that night, who could foretell that today we would tear at the last vestiges of our love
& when it comes to breakages, on this night of the broken coffee jar, there are further trails to follow
I am advised, thankfully, by both of those in this story; make it suit the two of you, go to neutral ground, be there for a few hours only