When the eye of a dead fish
Met mine at the market,
I knew we shared a secret.
The way a glove on the sidewalk
Points accusingly at the passerby,
As if to reveal a hidden transgression.
Silence in a room where words
Ended in a quarrel, and now
Only the ticking clock dares speak.
The stare of a clock when sleep
Evades and the night grows claws,
Prowling with all our lost chances.
An empty swing swaying
As if a ghost child just leapt,
Leaving behind her laughter.
A lone shoe on the highway,
Its journey a mystery that
Hitchhikes with my thoughts.
When you catch yourself
Mirrored unexpectedly in a shop window,
And your face looks like a question
Someone asked in a dream,
But you woke up too soon
To remember the answer.