Alone

The view is constant,
changed only by the light and day,
not growing any older
as we all do.
The viewpoint will remain
for years and years to come
and for a while provide
a daily destination
for one lone viewer.

At first, she seemed asleep,
almost in hibernation,
but then the pattern surfaced:
a midday break,
perhaps an hour long.
to sit, to sleep, to eat.
Alone.

Sitting on the bench
beside her, we look for
the slightest sign
she knows we’re here.
The gaze stays fixed, and distant;
the focus all within:
a frontier to a land
where entry is forbidden.

There must, though, once
have been an entrance:
another place, another time,
another life, another love.
And other people.

We are not here
to be alone, and so
I reach across the bench
to touch her hand.
She turns her head
and looking up, her eyes
break into the softest smile
bathed by the gentlest tears.
It makes my touch worthwhile. 


January 2016