He sat there contently.
Or was he searching for feeling?
Or pausing on a thought?
His eyes were glazed
and nothing seemed to matter but the cigarette
resting between his thin fingers,
the wind agitating its embers,
and the smoke curling from his lips.
His voice was like a sad ghost's.
A voice that could calm a screaming baby,
or break someone's heart.
If only for a day
he was a stranger I set apart.
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