he's silent and sleeping
in a room he never thought he'd enter
in a house he never loved
but he's at least here for now
wonder what his dreams are like?

he's quietly breathing
musty air he never liked
the ancient fragrances of dead times
but he's buried her already
wonder how his journal reads?

I don't know him all that well
he's never looked my way
now is no time to approach him
not in his catatonic state
but I can't resist wondering
if he's wondering about me.

he's vocal and driving
in an old, rented vehicle
singing to the radio, to songs he doesn't know
speaking of places he someday plans to go -
wonder if he's listening to me?

© Jess Zelhart, 2004. Thou shalt not steal.

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