The coffee shop is lit and alive.
Music pumps, pulses, and circulates.
Hands dance and heads bob in conversation.
Behind the counter
it’s all cha-ching and movement—
strictly business.
My eyes wander out the window
across from me.
It’s black out there.
Ghosts of the hanging lamps inside
float in the blackness;
trees swirl in a wind
made silent
by the glass,
and I’m out there—
a reflection
adrift in the dark, wild silence—
looking in.
