When you look through my window, what do you see?

Does your own reflection distort,

distract from my own?

Or do those dark eyes

perceive my frantic efforts to achieve meaning,

see through the fragile skin

to bones as stark as grave?

Can you see past the crumbs,

past the messiness of life in the living,

to the heart beating love

and fear

and sons and daughters,

meetings and givings,

turmoil and rest?

And I wonder –

Have you mastered

the mystery of your own survival,

do you know where

hope hides

when the discomfort of the stretch

comes?

Can you tell tales

to keep nightmares away

during unending Arabian nights?

Do you wonder

about me,

the way I wonder

about you?

Perhaps

this glass between us

distorts how I see you,

how you perceive me.

Perhaps

there is only

this film of silica

keeping us

from

knowing the other.

If this glass were cut,

would we bleed

together?