I saw him for the first time,
he walked over the bridge,
hands in his pockets,
eyes
over the rims of his tinted glasses, gazed at
the river,
shivering from the wind,
from the morning chill,
maybe from both,
maybe from pneumonia.
it was a month ago… .
I wait on the bridge every day
to meet him, to say “Hello”,
to take his eyes
away from the gray waters.
but there is only a river,
wind and chill.
if I am persistent,
one day I’ll meet pneumonia,
for certain.
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