The Observer

From two worlds
We happen on the same crux.
By chance we choose the same road

Casually abreast
We see and hear
Many things that others miss
Incandescent with life.
We have become used
To the sound of each other’s feet.
I have learned
The language of your silence
The line of your hair
And the whisper
Of your uneven pulse –
The sound of my life’s life.
I know you
When you are but a dot in the distance
A movement in a crowd
A phrase in a hubbub.

But you – your gaze
Is more often forwards
Your eyes sleep beyond my horizon
In a land where I may not come.
Soon we shall reach
The next crossroads
And you will choose again

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