St. Catherine’s Day

by John Stocks

For you fell silent as the train eased in,
As if you knew.
On St. Catherine’s day, just after midnight,
Cold and crisp and bitter clear, the frost set in,
As, between tilt and sip, smile and lip, we stilled.

And you noted how swiftly the mood changed
How people began to struggle, to fold away
The shy moments of pleasure,
Stolen from life’s drab routines.

This is how the parting begins: you knew,
As if you were remembering the future,
The shift in the tide of time, the gravitas
Immutable. An ache that would not be assuaged.

Too soon would fall the time of sorrow,
Of grieving for that which might have been,
A thing of beauty in another life.
Days when you would sketch his face and sense
His pheromones lingering on your skin
As you trembled
With the desperate, hopeless, love of him.