He sits with cigarette smoke and a chill
in the air outdoors the graying city,
watching her guests take pictures they will use
to tell a story about themselves to
people he will never meet, and “There is
a loneliness to the rehearsal of
dreams,” he thinks.
Any minute now his life, like pages
scattering, will be a memory.
Then that, too, will fade.
He imagines the streets empty, cold tall
buildings towering bare sidewalks and chairs,
leafless trees clinging to the dirt in their
roots, as the wind moves unfettered through