Witness at the Window

Poem - Witness at the Window

You walked the length of the corridor with the light going red behind you. You stopped at the window. You did not open it.

This is what I know: the street below was ordinary. A woman crossed against the signal. A dog sat under the awning of the closed shop. The rain started and stopped and started again.

This is what I saw: your hand on the sill. Your weight on one foot. The cigarette you didn't light. The door behind you that you didn't close.

This is what I heard: the building breathing around you. The elevator stopping at the wrong floor. Someone laughing three stories down. Your breathing, which was steady.

You were not waiting. You were not leaving. You were there.

The way a window is there - set into the wall, holding the difference between inside and outside without choosing.

You turned from the glass. The corridor took your weight. The light went from red to nothing.

I watched you go. I did not call your name.

The window held the smudge of your hand on the glass. It held it for a long time.

Then the rain came and the rain took it.