Reaching Poem by Derek Keck

Heart done with fingers in the window—
who created this?

I wonder, did you walk right from the past,
into this supermarket,
and draw unforgivingly on the glass
pane, by the bananas, just
to leave your mark
knowing I would meet it
and dream of you?

Or did some lonely dreamer meet me in my same
eyes, about an hour ago, and wish on held hands
and smiles, thinking of times long past and
futures also

long past?

And living in this long-past of ours,
did this dreamer write a symbol ode to all that is, was, and is now no more?

Thinking hot breath and finger marks conjured ghosts and Gods,
but hoping more for the second.