​

 

I pass restaurants filled with people digesting

Fueling themselves, I try to remember my last meal

What it was like to suck the fat off fingers

To pull remnants of meat off bones

My face feels heavy; I look through

its washed out image on the window

Hollow cheeks, colorless eyes

A woman cries

with laugher, I can’t hear

her. 

 

My feet leave temporary prints,

in the rain, proof it was me watching

them. 

 

I pass the windows looking into life in motion

I watch people in a layer of rain on the window,  

my core is empty. 

Outside it is damp, and dark.

Inside is vibrant and warm.

I watch my prints on the sidewalk disappear slowly. 

Who is that? That face in the window? Is it,

mine? 

 

Rooms hosting smiling people, they are together.

I look at them—I am outside the glass.

I look at my heavy face—I am on the glass.

Cement underneath me. Nobody walks with me.

Join those

people. 

 

More wetness on the sidewalk, more wetness.

Rejection of the impulse to join.

My face flickers, a child waves at me and smiles:

No, he’s waving to a real

person.