Sandwiched among apprentice boys,
tea & scones laid out across the grubby breakfast bar,
we speak of parents and kids,
holidays and fiscal pain
hands brushing lightly now and again.
To your left a small window lets in just enough light
to pick out the silver in your hair,
hover over my crow's feet,
remind us just how starved of it we are,
in a concrete bunker like this.
Such a small window
but such an illumination
in these darker autumn days.