Are they yours or mine, these elephants
that crowd the quiet bedroom when
I wake in the small hours, or maybe they belong
to both of us now, after so long.
They don't want much, only to be seen
for what they are and then
they'll clear away, lift like rain clouds, leaving
us space to breathe, to move about in.
We've come so far, moving up and on
like Hannibal with his brilliant plan, his elephants,
crossing the Alps, hoping to conquer Rome,
then pausing somewhere cold and looking down
at all that lay ahead, what seemed so possible
lost in the snow, the early morning chill.