The Retreat

Under an assault of slender-arrowed rain,
the snow has retreated from this beach of stone
like a wave on yearly tide.

The wedding-white shroud
has been pulled away to reveal
this green reincarnation.

The stray corpse of a snowman
sinks into the mud. The rain has stolen
his face and a testimony melts in his mouth,

dribbling onto the grass like blood.
But what was there to leave?
I cannot grieve for their dead.

The sky is colourless in surrender,
and I find unclaimed continents of ice
in the car park; spoils, loot.

Students trickle between these masses
like water. There is one solid cloud-mound
in my path and I plant my boot in it like a flag.