on a
window
shapes
painted
with finger
tips. a voice
saying
stay,
tea,
coffee?
you shake
your head.

the man
opposite tries not
to look
up
from his folded
newspaper.
your reflection sits
fingertip
to fingertip,
painting
tears in
breaths.

you will not be
a widow-
to-be waving
a hand
kerchief
at the train
window.
tomorrow.
you lick
your lips.
taste salt
where her kisses
should be.

tomorrow
you’ll be far
away from her/e
and the only salt
you’ll taste will be
from the sea.

Photo courtesy of Gabriele Diwald