Distant laughter is a bad opening,
the romance of loneliness is fabrication-
people are all around and receptive, 
open-armed, kinder than ageing.

You separate yourself with thoughts
of otherness- particularly sensitive
that day, even if every day. You are not
an intruder, they love you even if you

set yourself apart in awkwardness.
The inability to join in is not artistic,
it is an excuse to stay a science of
yourself, outsider, your nose pressed

against the window where a fire burns
in a faraway hearth and a family toast
marshmallows and laugh and lovingly 
smile at the other, gazing outward.