the insomnia is back tonight.

too few patrons have visited,
and i’m still too alert.
busy nights are always preferable,
they’re when i sleep best.

then, i do not dream,
respite from the bright day.
now the world is quieter,
the focus dimmed and softened.

the visitor is back too,
suit and fedora always present.
he sits silently over drinks,
watching the world go by.

the few times he speaks,
he is familiar yet not.
there is always a certainty,
a conviction: i know him.

and he knows me somehow,
hooded eyes regard me thoughtfully.
his presence steals my respite,
and my presence steals his.

we never truly interact here,
afraid of breaking the peace.
i cannot risk unnecessary changes,
besides he’ll be away tomorrow.

it’s only a few decades.

Edward Hopper's Nighthawks.
Nighthawks, by Edward Hopper.

2 thoughts on “looking”

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