Lone II

The small movement of your chest,

each breath, the only sign.

Walls dull, no fresh paint, messed

up the finish round the corners, off-line,

Rain beats against the roof,

it's constant pattern becoming 

silence. You stare out, no truth

to be found, you bring

Your gaze to the matte grey sky,

unchanged. No cloud passing by

Tea cold, an oily layer forming, try

to think of something that might fill the time.

it might be minutes, 

it might be hours,

it might be days,

a haze of endless, empty spaces,

no voices other than the evening news,

no faces

no sharing of your morning views,

or musings with anyone but the plants

you no longer really water.

From this trance,

the ringing of a phone,

that cuts through the still

a loud and jolly tone,

his face lights, fill

these moments with the chance

to make a change.

‘You fancy catching up?’

A short exchange,

he answers ‘yes’.

A difference made.