We step across wide water,
taking our time. Breathing:
it’s taken most of our life.
You shout and I can’t look back.
Water dark as guinness –
what made us think we could risk it?
Out here in the middle
the river fizzes faster.
Too late to turn back.
Green rocks now,
lank weed stranded,
every one a slippery stretch
and the far bank receding.
Alone together, balancing,
too far apart to clasp.
Lyn Browne