• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 04
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Sight Lines

We never see each other
dead on. There’s always
some reflection, refraction,
stray ray of light, or softening
shadow that makes us
stranger, each to other.

You are someone I think
I know. I am also an image
in your eye and wonder
how I look there. The dark
within me—does it shade
my features? And when I

see you, your back to me,
your eyes and smile mirrored
but miraculously angled
at me, who is seeing and seen?
So familiar—that glass ghost.
So fragile—the love of strangers.