Sometimes interpreting the look on your face
is like peering through a fogged-up window pane --
your eyes illegible; a million unknown signs.
Your eyes appear as shadowy figures pacing aimlessly
in the space between here and there,
making their hurried way to the next destination.
So near and yet so distant;
your words, blurred and indecipherable
leave things unsaid out in the rain
until meaning gets smudged away.
By the time I reach Dormont Junction,
I have just enough time 
to pack up my belongings
and take a last glance -- a last guess --
before heading out to face the cold open,
a burst of wind full of shock and defiance.