I look through the front window
coffee shop bustling within
rippled glass takes everyone
out of focus
which is how I see you
standing, head bent
book open on the counter
in your own world
you're not me
that much is clear once I
shift perspective and
the ripples run clear
the hair is too long too
flat pulled back into a long
braid that I envy as I reach
and toy with my curls
the nails are too perfect
too rounded not chipped
at all as you drum them
on the wood
I cannot see your face or
anything else clearly
no the window only dares
to show me a pinprick
a vision of the me who is not
all dressed in green
reading a book I love
I want to reach
then a collision on the sidewalk
a mumbled apology and the
moment is gone and the
angle is all rippled
I consider going in and sitting
ordering something and
talking away the afternoon
with you
instead I mutter 'don't be weird'
and walk away and if when I
am home I pull a book off of
my shelf
well that's no one's business but mine
