I saw the bitter sun,
Upon the vehicle’s sliding window
He was going deep down,
In a nimbus of angry-red,
Perhaps the sun will rise tomorrow
Upon my lips – dry despite
The wet, mellowing ray kisses.
There are people everywhere.
The sliding window catches their fleeting face,
One glimpse, before they fade and vanish
And I think of the sun in this crowd,
As words float in like snowflakes.
The yellow street lights will be awake
When I would reach your door-step
And some shadows will die on the staircase.
Someone hums a tune,
I wait for eyes on the keyhole
And listen to the silence inside.
I search for the keys…