every time I glance out of the window, love,
grey clouds slink down into our valley deep
and filter out all colour: grey above,
below, and grey behind our balcony when sleep
creeps up like time on light, and all around our space
the mist coils spreading from the glacier
of Kitzsteinhorn, and River Salzach’s waters race
and roil beyond the moor’s dark clumps of birch and alder
where wagtail, dipper, and sad willow warbler
chatter cross the fens beside the spa’s hot springs.
around us in the town, the fog clings
to the streets, a scattering of ghosts without a face –
we sip a schnapps, our spirits warm, and love
each other, smiling, dissolved into the place.