The Third Floor Window

I’ve turned out every lamp and stood back from the glass.

I’m watching the people and the minutes pass.

He’s been at the bus stop for ten minutes straight,

ignoring the schedule and the hour that’s late.

His head is tilted up toward my floor.

I check the deadbolt on the heavy front door.

He flicks a cigarette and the orange spark glows,

a small burning eye in a world no one knows.