Last Contact

(Something I'm still working on) :-

No-one had come in. The office door
remained closed against the cold March day.
Outside the window, the world bustled on - yet another delivery van
revving up in the yard, ready to go: all as normal.
And yet there had been someone there, he was sure -
someone standing at his shoulder,
someone he knew, who knew him. They had spoken.
What had they talked about? He could not remember,
no words, anyway; just a sense of something about
long-ago times, long-ago familiar faces, names and hopes and dreams.
A shadow fell softly across the bright window, and
for a moment, the traffic noise outside was hushed. A tear
coursed its salty way down one cheek, and it seemed to him
a hint of incense lingered a moment in the air.
He shook himself awake,
as the next delivery van manoeuvred into its space outside,
rattling the window, with the spring light cold and bright once more.
He stood, brushed some unexplained dust
from his jacket, went to put the kettle on
for coffee. The telephone began to trill;
he let it ring.