Leaving (Poetry)

Through the glass she watches traffic
changing lanes -its surge and crawl,
the city light hangs soft as veiling,
drapes the face of each grey wall.

She sits among the flowing dust sheets,
drinks one final cup of tea,
sipping in the drawn-out silence,
feels the tug of some far sea.

It's time to leave but she's reluctant,
counting cars that stream below
to reach the crossroads, take their turning,
confident of routes they know.

For now, the swelling stillness claims her,
wraps her in its empty folds
as sighs infest familiar shadows,
not knowing what the future holds.