A Still Day In November

By the window you sat

Gazing blank as paper

That shrivels in the drops

Like a thought for later

Tense crystals beat at

And adhere to the glass

But this rain, like anything

Will pass

I fixate for a moment

What's there?

Hiding amid rain and wisps

Of coffee-scented air

Of tastes and smells

Of every childhood meal

Of the tasteless present

That is nothing but real

The food's here

And you're finally back

From the cold, driving rain

Which always somewhat lacks

In the deep meaning that

Everyone gleans from staring

At a window on a rainy day

Without their bearings

Why would you go there?

It's cold and wet outside

Your heart will catch it

Even if your body hides

I pick up my knife and fork

And as you pick yours too

In the ice water on the table

Is a refraction of you

All ready to begin

On this great scent and taste

And the wrong sights and sounds

It's quite a waste

You smile, and I smile back

And then my attention wanes

With my half-smile still on, unaware

To the rain