Jake Roberts

Movement in the cold stasis.

A cat hugs a smattering of 

Snow-capped graves, winding 

Thoughtlessly past mourners, their 

Eyes fixed to stagnant, waning feet.

The chill makes to follow her path

So each visage, betrayed, lifts to breathe

A fleeting warmth: life

Pulls together what here is torn.

Unknowing, denying, the cat makes haste

Along uniform patches of past 

Congregations, hard with the season, 

Drooping heads and frozen ink,

Deep into balding hedgerows 

And out, still further from our crowd. 

Atop a mound, she halts to rest

And watch, as we did, the distant tide –

Morbid sundial, we all sense the time.

Ignorant of the love she undermines,

She pads the frost and waits for mice.