the far room

as he speaks, my mind wanders.

i hear his voice,

i hear him clear his throat

and go on.

but i'm thinking of other things,

while i pretend to listen.

perhaps he sees that in my

eyes, and repeats a word or two.

i see the grey

in his hair, the lines around

his eyes.

his face is carved with worry,

as most faces are, struggling

to smile when a smile is necessary.

he points to the far room.

tells me about the fireplace,

the stain on the ceiling.

the floors that squeak.

i wonder if he's in love.

i see the ring on his finger.

but i still wonder if he's in love.

he asks me if need to see more.

i tell him no. i've seen enough.

it's late, perhaps i'll leave now.

it's time to go.