Disclosures and evasions abound,
A crowd forms and then disappears
As soon as a face is sifted out,
The possibility of the name, a past,
A possible future between the two of us,
Is found and for a moment, granted.
In our shared visual plane, we paint
One another into a corner
With a foreground meant for us
And backgrounds composed of strangers,
We are not yet close enough
To bring our voices out of the commotion.
And the face is robbed by movement,
The lights change, the traffic shifts,
Weather overhead brings out adaptations,
Everything fades back into a mass
Which now floats on like never before,
As a cloud, or a plume of exhaust.
Ben Nardolilli, USA