Moving quickly,
a shadow among shadows,
avoiding all stares.
A phone to his ear,
at the other end,
a ghost knows the truth.
Pockets, heavy with regrets,
and hollow eyes, searching
for things he cannot have.
A life story
written on his face
for anyone who cares to see.
In a hurry to be home,
where dreams and illusions
roam freely, unashamed.
Photographs stare
but ask no questions
or demand apologies.
Summoned by wine,
old friends come to dinner.
Stillness vanishes
in trivial chores.
Pink evening light
watches over him,
as he folds another day.