I watch the traffic through cigarette smoke,
That dances with sighs frosted by winter,
Released into the cold, electric air
By strangers standing close, yet all alone.

And through the blurry neon reflections,
Cast on windows adorned with icicles,
Where the colors bleed along frozen panes,
Something that shouldn’t be there caught my eye.

I thought I saw your shape form in the glass,
But ghosts don’t walk beneath the city lights,
Waiting for someone to follow behind
And lead them through forgotten memories.

Yet no one turns as the traffic drones on,
As I leave to light one more cigarette
And walk by the glass where you might have been,
Where my ghost joins yours in the cold window.
©️2025 David Cornetta