Now Who’s Seeing Things

The tiny, grey-headed gnome of a man,
Sad-eyed, with a long beard in a wheelchair,
Would appear to be waiting for something,
Although who knows what it could possibly be—

He’s literally staring at a blank wall,
From time to time coughing convulsively,
But not paying attention to that wall.
There must be something he’s imagining.

You wake up with a start, realizing
That it was you he was imagining,
Just not that well, not very well at all,
The palest shadow of you in the wall.