peering through the glass,

it appears clear but strangely so.

the scene on the other side

appears to unfold like smoke

forming and reforming

but not quite the same.

i touch the glass but can’t feel it.

i try to open the window

but the latch doesn’t move.

the people are performing

tasks that are almost familiar

yet foreign enough to question.

i try to communicate, i call out

but they appear to not hear me

as they look at me without seeing

as they play out the scene.

the comfort that’s felt is like

a memory of sorts, but so

lost in the past it can’t find its place.

so close to the moment,

so far from the time.

unsure if its real or developed from a photo.

regardless of where this

scene rose to be, i'll

cherish the window to the past

and its memories.