So we stare out
the window into the outside
where smiles and frowns collide
in reflections of clowns on windowpanes,
and the sun won’t dry
our tears until tomorrow.

They do, she whispers,
and I try to smile knowingly,
but the pain on panes reminds me
there are melancholy clowns
whose frowns look like smiles
until it rains,
and all the world is sad with us.