no different than us

the building,
twenty stories high
sits
beside the bridge.
some windows dark and others
alive in yellow light.
we can see people
through the windows,
their sliding glass doors,
catch glimpses
of faces, children,
husband, wives,
of dinners being served,
of lovers
in embrace.
each a poetic venture of
sorts. known but unknown,
strangers who will remain
strangers, but
no different than us
who travel home.