Shadows slip along the curtains
Moving with the slow speed
Of her taxi’s headlights
As they pass by lamp posts,
Other cars.
People within look up,
Look out,
Blandly curious at who goes there.
Rain drops run in rivulets
Creating paths down the panes,
Pushed by gravity.
A return, she thinks,
As she follows their drifting progress,
Is always bitter sweet,
Just like a departure.
She looks out,
Stares between the rain drops,
her taxied approach slow,
Moving up the street toward home.
The hard leather seat holds her
Rocking her slightly with the motion,
Her breath fogs the window.
The lights flicker in the big house
And silhouettes shift about easily
Unaware that they are seen,
That their meeting is now anticipated
From without.

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