You might think we would talk
after Absent in the Spring. Mary Westmacott (Agatha Christie)
A desert station home for several days
no view to speak of, only space
our books already read, no outside world
no view to speak of, only space.
One day the train will just arrive.
We punctuate the time between our meals
with walks to nowhere in particular
alone. You seem preoccupied.
I try that look as well to save my face.
I’ve never felt so lost for words
no view to speak of, only space
between the last woman, the last man.