Life is thin without the ones we know,
the hours long and meaningless;
or anyway, that’s how they feel.
I meet strangers in the corridor,
forge new friendships in halting steps,
both of us looking sideways at it, each
longing for another soul. But we clear
through the underbrush of explanations:
tell our classic stories, a few details,
making room for new growth—but
what I want, what I see they want, too
lives only now in bright memories, unreachable.
February 2020
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