it happened three times today, i thought it was you.
the clearest, the one time i was really sure
was in the spray of fumes and water
when the bus stormed past, there across the street
just rounding the corner. your shoulders,
your black jacket. your inappropriate hair.
who hasn’t stared after a stranger,
felt the foolish urge to yell and make a scene?
because it wasn’t you at all. not even close.
you’re somewhere else. i know what you’re doing.
i have no reason to look for you here, to shout.
but what if it was? what if it had been?


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