Always Alone

I wonder where he has gone,
the man who would sit here
every day
before the snow fell,
always alone
with the view.
Perhaps it became too cold
for him,
but I don’t think so.
I’ve seen him there on colder days,
always alone
with the view.
He would stretch out his arms
across the back of the bench
so that he filled it.
Though he was
always alone
there never seemed space
for anyone else.
So there were no conversations,
or even “good mornings”.
He didn’t seem to need them.
So we all passed by.
And now
in the snow we can sit there
with the view,
with his view
and wonder where he is.
And wonder if he was
always alone.

First published in Vox Poetica Prompts, February 2018

http://voxpoetica.com/prompts/