through the pages
for someone to call,
a connection by chance
may answer.
She stares ahead
wired for silence,
freckled shoulders
lead to slender fingers,
listening and watching
for a name.
She sits so still
in the underground
for her train to come,
each picture pauses
a gentle breeze.
Look at me, tonight
forget your mirror,
please let me whisper
how perfect your hair
is, clipped and tied back.
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