December was like a hope deferred
burdened as it was
with our fracturous standing
together in the arctic-scattered,
fugal south, wreathed
like a skjærgård amongst one another
and the flecked shores, watching
the wind drawn across us in such arced beauty.
It would not do to repair the long year
between us, or pretend our honesty
made it further than winter.
Only think of our quiet walking,
and the way it made me weep,
and the way it made you laugh.

Daniel Fuller has been writing poetry since the age of 12. Currently based in Lincolnshire, England, he draws inspiration from land and country as well as the deeply personal and relational. His work has been published in Rust + Moth, the Walled City Journal and Yes Poetry, and was shortlisted in the 2020 Bridport Prize.