Silvering

I saw my shadow in the glass

as the rain began to fall.

I watched the wet commuters pass

and leaned against the wall.

The window of a parked sedan

gave back a shape I knew.

The heavy shoulders of a man

I’d spent my life running through.

My father’s slouch, the way he stood,

was written in the pane.

I’d hide the likeness if I could

from the smudges and the rain.

I touched the edge to clear the view,

to wipe the fog away.

But all I found was something true

in the fingerprint of grey.