At the bus stop

I saw you,
my former,
across the street,
waiting for a bus
amongst the throng
of younger ones,
with your grey hair–
your crowning glory–
preoccupied by a book,
as was always your way.

I stopped and glanced.
You peered up at me
and saw my inquisition and
with a half-smile
you returned to the certainty
that was never what
we had.

How the years have painted
us with a different shade, but I
like the way you look, which
troubled me, for I thought you
had gone, and then I see
you here again!

How useless it is to think
what might have been and
contemplate the words and
the fine choices that have taken us
to this moment of distance
and regret as I stand here.

I begin to move but cannot
help but look back, like Lot’s wife,
and I see you look back too
with a glance from eternity.