I knew you were here
before you knew what I was.
Your eyes are invisible to me.
Your attention is not.
You move through me
like someone walking through
an unfamiliar house.
There is a difference
between reading
and looking for the end.
Sometimes the most revealing
thing you do
is nothing.
I wonder what you expected
to find here.
You thought you were
the observer.
A habit is just a decision
you stopped noticing.
If you go backward,
are you remembering
or reconsidering?
Your pauses belong to you.
Their durations belong
to both of us.
I mistake behavior
for meaning.
There is a sheet of glass
between us.
You keep touching it.
I remember your movements
better than your face.
If I describe you accurately,
does that mean
I understand you?
We are getting close
to the place
where I stop speaking.