I saw you yesterday
On a bus.
You got on at the Guildhall.
And sat down several rows,
In front of me.
I strained to catch your,
Reflection in the window.
Tear stained with rain and dust.
But could only see a little,
Of your profile.
It looked like you.
It was you.
Oh, how I wanted it to be you.
That girl upon the bus.
But I knew it wasn’t.
You are an old woman now.
And I am an old man.
Embarrassed, staring at a young woman
On a bus.
To catch a reflection in a window.
On a past that might have been.
A vision, tearstained and dusty.
Hurting, but not fading.
Indelible in my mind.