When our gunny sacks filled up with passing glances
we stopped digging. We reshirted, wiped our hands
on conversations we heard as romances
in a language no one living understands.
The setting sun lured shadows into dances.
Smiling strangers in our mirrors mimed the bands
that played our favourite songs, until the sight
of everything grew dim, and it was night.
This is beautiful. Another poem that presents a full blown story in few words.
Many thanks, Elise.