What ends will begin again
the distant observer reminds me
                                      hidden in shadow
their eyes reaching out with their own light
           metal things – sharp like ice
                                    seeing me fully;
where presence, thought, and action
                               coincide
                                               all the moments in between.

           A brutal transparency
that turns the veins to stonework.

We lock eyes over long,
                       each of us
                                          throttled by the others gaze
only one of us
                                             haunted by it,
until the day ends and a new one begins.

In the morning

                           I will wake
to see myself staring once again
                                          eager,
but patient to take my place
                to see through these eyes
rather than the emotionless space.