I see you standing at the curb tonight
and wonder about the crinkled letter
crumpled in your shivering grasp.

It pains me to remain behind this window
as we both expose your haunted soul
to silence’s piquing rasp.

I see you clearly, even from this distance;
your waning smile is a desperate ruse,
and tears smear your happy mask.

I wish my legs would carry me out to you,
to give voice to muted hope
and answer anything it dares to ask,

but as your laconic disguise deliquesces
and your smile drips from your chin,
I fear the time for that may have passed.

Still I stay, watching you at my curb,
curious about that crumpled letter,
wondering how many others we’ve amassed.


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