Remote from others in this shadowed place,
familiar eyes and a stranger’s face.
They hold my attention, like a well-written book,
with curiosity inspired by his distant look.
An expression so empty it weakens my will,
like yesterday’s echo whispering still.
Slowly I find myself moving his way
without a clue of what I might say.
Relaying my thoughts, though it’s his that I tell,
to this stranger in time that I know so well.
How oddly I feel, the intruder now caught,
For I’ve lived his secret of intricate thought.
© 1984 HSE
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