But what if I had looked the other way?
What if you'd only seen me from the back,
wandering to the living room without a stray
backward look? Would you sense a lack
of something vital, or something gone astray—
would I, like a letter in a stack
of unread mail, be as irrelevant
as missives unreceived, or (worse) unsent?
The message was received, but as your lips
finished murmuring my name, you twisted,
beginning your retreat from line of sight
as many miles away, faint sonar blips
went off the map entirely. The sky had misted,
and distant movements merged into the night.
Quincy Lehr, Brooklyn, USA