On Seeing You Again

It can’t be true –
that I’d be able to
see through you
as if you were
hollow broken glass.
You are a human being,
after all, presumably

with mass: the normal
densities of fluid,
muscle, fat and bone
that keep a creature
visible – and prone
to sensate shocks:
physical affronts like

being touched:
indeed, when I sent
my embracing arm
again around your
shoulders, I could
sense a back, a front,
a crotch, an ass; 

but as I leaned
away from you,
you hollowed out once
more to broken glass.
Nothing mitigated
the effect: although
you seemed to speak,

your words blew
past like clear
insentient specks:
below and through,
around, above.
I wonder what we
ever had to do with love.


 
 
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