On days like this,
everyone in this town
trembles like trees under clouds.
Raindrops slide off jackets.

I know this and still grab my coat,
mumble something to my silhouette,
my shadow left flickering in front of the television
and I exit.

I join feet rushing across
icy cracks in concrete.
A mime on important business,
I jump the train of society.

I thought I saw you on the bus,
so I sat next to your ghost.
Really I was leaping across
a lunar landscape,
the dark side in inky silence.

Nothing ever changes:
we hold umbrellas, mochas, memories,
but never each other.