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Almost
Exit the classroom,
down the hallway.
Pass the room numbers counting down-
209, 208, 207, 206-
Almost as if to say, "You don't have forever."
Open the door.
Three entrances, three in or out, just one "exit only."
Why do I eliminate the possibility
of someone walking in
just as I'm about to leave?
I almost let you in...
Pass the trees
protecting lovers from a blue eternity.
Leaves fall.
Six red, four yellow, two orange.
One still green-almost completely innocent-unchanged.
Pass the lovers on benches,
whispering, almost inaudible words of passion
so no one else
can enter
into their world.
Pass the smokers,
still glowing
from the heat of last night's
fire
that almost burned them down.
Pass the mailroom.
A pink envelop, a heart-shaped stamp.
Almost 1,000 miles separate embraces,
but distance is irrelevant
when you are
one.
Pass a hundred possibilities.
Almost locking glances,
almost feeling
something.
Pass me by.
WE...we almost.
