Glazed

there are two windows, both lonely and long, with dark curtains drawn man standing forlorn, gazing up neck bent and hair neatly shorn what does he ponder, and what does he know - standing there below? blue white the white heart emblazoned on top, cold pavement wind blast red bus slithers fast, contrast of old love and memory past bitter quarried stone, old strength kept inside asks what does it hide? on the ledge she stands with nowhere to go, our man seeing slow smooth to the inside, eternal whiteness of forgotten bride through all she has seen, secrets she will keep, while the city sleeps soft wind whisper loud in his left eardrum, stops him going numb parallels of time layered and broken, wise advice spoken: ‘go back to your life’, dead grandmother tells, ‘go back to your wife’.