poet.ry

Sitting in the dark.

Listening to the murmurs.

Of someone else’s conversation.

The homeless man.

He just wandered through.

Asking for cigarettes.

No one has any.

It’s fantastic, it’s lovely, it’s great.

And God’s.

Too substantial to be anything.

That’s what they are saying.

That’s what I heard.

And just now.

I think I imagined someone.

At the lit window.

Peering out.

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