on the brink of night

waiting, eyes open.

nothing in me is still

but nothing outside moves

hours of staring at lightless window

wasting time thinking about

the wrong person.



A glimpse of the moon

parted by leaves

outside my window

reminds me of how alone I am.

Always the one standing at the passageway

under the busy road

wasting time thinking about

the wrong

person,

I.