I will peer into it,
and see your face. A muddled vision
or, if I am lucky,
a clear reflection.
I will move my lips
and see yours set in motion
by a silent song (never the siren’s,
but the murmuring wind’s).
I will raise my hand
and so will yours. The wave, barely
synchronized with mine: a delay
subtle enough to prove you are
there, a momentum. And soon:
if ever I fail to face the water,
to view myself, you
would not be there as well.
But when we are―
when we both are―
when I am here, and there you stand,
a hairline between angles of light,
we will stay. Imagine
that we touch the surface
(be it the oceans of the world,
or a stray puddle on a street).
Imagine the mirror shattering
between our fingers, and then look, later:
the water returning you and I, each other’s
face reflected back.