They incline towards the sun,
but look away,
opposing orbits around the cafe table
perched on black iron chairs
too decorative and cramped for comfort,
two seats on either side of table full of holes.
He leans back, coat open, smoke from his cigarette rises in loops and curls,
her scarf tight around her neck, leaning forward,
red glitter nails rise and fall without a sound,
silence their soundtrack.
A puzzle with the last piece missing,
a portrait in tones of negative space.
Through the gaps,
like a cabin depressurized,
all the life rushes out
and wind sweeps in
everything is moving and nothing is there.
