Cracks in the Frame

The bus rattles past that same corner,

where the paint peels slow on a faded wall.

Raindrops stitch the glass, blurring the world,

and that twitch inside me breaks loose again.

A shadow I know but can’t place,

a streetlamp flicker, a smell I’ve smelled before,

the way the sky bends into wet asphalt,

the smell of heat pressed down by rain.

It’s the same, but not, like walking through a dream

that keeps folding in on itself,

a crack in time that no one’s fixed,

a face I swear I’ve never met,

but feels too close to forget.