Using the back window of her mother’s
Too busy to wash it
A schoolgirl uses a single finger to trace a smiley face

Several streams of rain
Race down the picture windows of a doctor’s office
An elderly man stands inside, waiting for his ride home
His weary expression is more transparent than the blurred glass

A jet moves across the sky
Scraping its wings between clouds; across the moon
It leaves a trail of frozen mist behind it

It is an etching that lingers briefly
as your fingertips do, as they trace my shirt sleeves
just a small indention, but I infer much.

The moon pulls us and we go.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.