You watch his tired eyes and matted hair A paper coffee cup, an unfinished poem He is inside the trappings of a panoply Twitching a calloused finger towards discomposure Watching as what is not there makes itself ever more present Staring as moth wings of yearning marry the air Letters scarce and doubt plentiful Despondence is the new norm The next day his seat is empty A stranger takes his place You watch her tired eyes and matted hair