Poems&Prose

He steals in on soft feet, creeping thief like through the room.

waiting, I can hear everything-

the pause outside and the ragged sigh

before reluctant key turns to lock.

The finality of the closed door.

In the dark he fumbles at the window

Perhaps to let out some of the sad and hostile air.

When day and obligations call me
he still sleeps

poised gazing at the train tracks

tangled like the suit jacket discarded at his feet.

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