Your profile is like a summer house
With closed shades and rose bushes forlorn.
Things you’ve left outside for Fall’s tides to consider
A smile and a fruit, over-exposed pictures of yourself,
They’re called selfies in this neck of the woods.
I mouse over when the sun sets but night
Never falls and I sit at my desk
In the time zones of my journey.
I wait a bit for something to happen
Sand gets in, everywhere there was light.
Doors will open again for the next holidays,
People do come back, kids never quite the same,
How can love exactly be ? this mute screen,
This indifferent stare, that’s just the way
A message tree would sway in the wind.
Image credit : Peter Turnley
Frédéric Benqué 