Shrivelled and thin, in a pleated plastic bonnet
and out-of-date rain coat, she stepped out.
The edges of the sky gleamed.  Inside her house  
it was dim.  The lidless eye of his watch still lay
stopped on the bedside table.  The February
wind caught at her and without meaning to
she sat down on the low wall beside the walk.
A bird lit on the streaked pavement nearby,
grey skirted, stick legged, like her, seeking
something in the spilled day and uncertainty of dusk.