He requests the sound of her voice
to pacify him; there is no peace this winter.
She makes to speak but falters.
It is not her place, if you ask her,
to bring her love to bear against his demons.

Perhaps he will plead his case.
Perhaps her ears will be deaf.
There is no justice, they have both
come to know. There is only what
little they can scratch out
of the rocks and trees and dirt,
before the eyes of the universe,
and hope no-one is watching.

Once, they would share their scratchings.
Once is rarely always. In her eyes
there is no exception here. In her eyes
his are but a pittance. Hardly worth
the time to cast away.

He waits.
She will dismiss.
There is no peace in this winter.