Window Poem

Straight ahead,

is the hippie neighbor's house.

To the left,

are the four white shelves,

multiple framed memories

line them.

Today something's missing.

The neighbor isn't out.

I always see him in the afternoon,

getting fresh air.

The sun shines bright,

almost blindingly,

and a gust of wind 

brings down the remaining leaves.

I cannot see, 

but if I try hard enough,

I can imagine my boyfriend,

looking out his window,

and thinking of me, too.