The ones who used to sit

They came looking for 

me last night while 

I was traveling,

the ones who used to 

sit in my living space and 

breathe the same air as me

I saw them in familiar stations 

reading books under dim lamps

and cranking 

ice-cream on scarred linoleum

They sat in desaturated colors

on two long couches, speaking

in simple, unforced, conversation.

I don’t remember anything they said,

but they would smile when they spoke, 

even though they never 

looked up from what 

they were doing, busy.