Isn’t it funny, sometimes, that you see what is not there;
funny how the eye picks up the expression, the smile
yet also sees the beginning of loss; that that someone
is not looking at you but past you – to something – or someone
that you do not want to think about, but you do.
You see them in the sun and warming each other in winter.
Hesitation, the averted eye, but it adds up.
Or so you imagine.
And it is a watery sun in winter: there, just enough to warm your fears.
Then it crawls to the back of your head and begins to tap.
And that, really, is where the end starts