Downstream

in the sculpture garden in
front of a statue of two
figures in stone. They seem to
be embracing; perhaps it’s a
love story. Then I bend down
to read the plaque beneath it
where I can just make out a
single word: GRIEF.
Suddenly the sky thickens
with clouds and when I look
behind me the water beneath
Putney Bridge has been
thrown into threatening dark
shadow. I think of Mary