Quietly strangers pass us by.
A glance, a smile,
...at times our eyes meet.
Mostly though strangers passing quietly by.
There are these moments,
as if time traveling
from what was or from what will be,
when taking notice of a stranger stirs memory.
Seeing you,
not knowing you,
but recognizing you.
At second glance.
Possibly a third or more,
but as if suddenly found in a mystery genre,
clues are there,
made to be found,
ubiquitous and by design;
and as the sleuth we stare unsure
if what we have uncovered will
transform and take meaning.
I saw your reflection
this way the other day.
You saw me
you were found in recognition.
Did we know each other?
Not long since we last have met,
you have aged.
do I stir in your memory of a past
as you stir of a seeming future?
in this we are the time travelers.
Where as possible,
you visiting my past,
and me visiting your future.
You are dressed well,
tailored clothes
and accouterments
designed in fit and style.
I am your servant.
we both welcome the other
so
that we may see the other.
In closer,
almost as if worried pressed acknowledgment
shall alter certainty
as if light foot steps
would destroy our existence
we remain in question.
Quietly strangers passing by.
