Morning Lights

Alone again, I lean back
staring into my hands, or
the white expanse of the wall

a pattern in between

Here, I think, is you and
an approximation of me

perfect, just so

against the weak and early hour
unfocused through the blinds

filling up and spilling over

Then dissolving, a laugh
seized in mind only, yet
echoing in these empty halls

never to be