Mild orange

The sky blazes a soft pink
My finger quivers underneath the
leather gloves
that are trying to protect

me against the cold
set in by solitude
and the bitter taste
of relationships

that don’t last
because geography
intervenes. The evening
turns orange,

my mood tilts
eventually and
the finger ceases
to quiver.

What changed?
People don’t stop caring
because they disappeared.
Object constancy

must be developed.
Unless people changed.
Some don’t and
others do.