At a window in Lisbon, at night

Amongst the muddled blue-ish wash,

Is a tone that shifts from pink to grey,

And streetlights bubble up below,

And glow like sap on twisting bark.

–

Some windows wink behind their blinds.

But there, across the sunken street

A cool light blares from a kitchenette;

Warmed by muffled conversation.

–

I strain to piece together the human drama,

Played out by those silhouettes,

And fill the space left with the hopes,

And fears of a ceaseless mind.

–

The air is sweet; heavy with an irony.

Despite this proximity, stumbled on

Through uncountable coincidences,

We still find ourselves,

Unbreachably apart.

–

Spots float in front of my eyes,

And push me away from the humanity below.

The eruptions of life recede into the inky distance,

As they go on, under their purples skies.

–