FROM A WINDOW - Rowan Aberyswyth

He stood in the rain
watching me through windows
Blurred by fog & night;
he cannot possibly see me
but I see him
Outlined in moonlight & darkness,
pale hair glistening with rain drops
& starting to curl;
I love when it does that
(he hates it; mutters & menaces
to cut it all off) but I laugh.
Grey eyes have no color by starlight;
skin glows silver like metal,
like an animated doll.

He turns away slowly,
Maybe wondering if I am watching,
Maybe wondering why he's leaving,
Maybe not thinking of me at all, who knows?
He heaves his lithe frame
Into the damp saddle & grips wet leather
reins tightly; the horse is not
jittery, but he always worries about
things like that.

As he rides from the courtyard
of glistening moon-silvered cobbles
& protection from the wind,
he turns once & slowly, so slowly,
raises his hand to the window.
Can he see me after all,
where I stand obscured by
velvet drapes & fog & night?
I raise my hand in response,
waving sadly - (but how do you wave sadly?
It is but a gesture, but can
carry many meanings, like
Joy or eagerness or, in this case, heartbreak)
& I think that he has seen me
For he smiles & turns away,
Or is it thoughts of escape that
make him smile so dismally?
I would like to think it's me, just as
I would like to think everything he is is
for me, but I'll never know.