Half-Seen

In half-blurred photos, I find myself looking back.
Foggy mornings mirror something I haven't named yet.

Crowds move past like they've somewhere better to be.
I echo off empty walls and the walls don't mind.

Faded pictures, thin as the smile I keep for company.
Daylight leaks in slow, the way grief does, the way want does.

The city stirs, unmoved by my particular shape.
Still, I carve out a space, small and mine and enough.

A beauty, broken, blooms here in the blur.
Half-seen, I breathe it in.
I stay.

--Vera