by Robert Gould
Days spent at my mirror
preparing for you
(my hair, these clothes, botched encounters with tan)
were a waste of my time.
I should have learnt a new word,
a new way to describe what I felt –
it was real, like the smile I will wear
when you wave and you walk
hand in hand with the one.
I could not see it when you left,
only now it is clear:
I am the window you look through to admire the sun.