Summer 2014

Thoughts on a stranger I keep meeting.

There's a man with a dog.

Sometimes I see him and

seeing myself, I turn away letting it be.

If I sat here on the pier.

Long enough, dangling feet

over the worn woody edge,

he would come and if I looked

he would look back seeing himself in me.

Long ago on an aeroplane,

later a train, a crowded street,

I caught brief glimpses

of other he may be versions.

This one persists however

making the merely ethereal

appear like real.

He brings you to me every

random meet.

It is for this I turn away,

the odd connection that defies

an explanation other than

you're two places at once,

morphing into strangers smirking,

entering my field of living.

Even on the bloody pier

minding my own business

you appear, the stranger

asking for permission to approach

never knowing you've invaded him.