I watched you move through abandoned galleries, old bones creaking in the quiet. Stranger, you gaze up at each painting as though it was a love you lost in a crowd.
Eyes glistening, searching.
You place your midnight blue hat on the seat between us, fingers trembling as you pull out your worn sketchbook. I watch as the gallery fills. People curve around you like a tide, but, still Stranger you sit, notebook in hand. Solid and unmoving; the shore beneath cresting waves.
I sat beside you, looking for what you saw. Looking into the eyes of each painting as if looking into the eyes of an old friend.
You looked up at me, and in the place of eyes,
I saw the moon.
(i never saw anything that bright)