You stop to look into the eyes
of you observing you

and recognize
the familiar stranger,

the gaze of the one
who observes

all you do, the you who is you
and not you,

the eyes of the one who’s
unshaken by your fears,

who remains as steady
as the sky.

We’re going to die,
you say.

Yes, of course, the eyes reply;
but maybe not today.

+ + + + +

[Please let me know what you think – tscrider@gmail.com]