The Unclosed Space

A shop window, smeared

with rain, or just dust.

Caught my face in it, peered

at the person I'd trust

to keep things together.

My eyes went straight

to that sliver of weather

between the two. Too late

to change it now, I guess.

Still there, that dark line.

My tongue tests the space, no less

than it did when I was nine.

A small flaw, a minor break,

a silent, stubborn claim.

A space for a small mistake,

or a whisper of a name.