whispers of steam
drift up from the cup,
swirling and swimming in the air.
I inhale, sip, place,
write.
sitting in the corners
of library bars and cafes,
I linger on the borders of your vision.
watching, thinking, writing.
my pencil carves trenches on the page,
mapping out your lives.
you don’t see me,
but I see you,
hear you,
know you.
your mundane movements,
your regular routines,
never deviating from
your strange habits,
your ticks,
your fidgets.
you wander in,
run out for class.
the clock ticks your day away
as you read, chat, sip.
you’re captured in a thought,
processed,
bled out onto a page.
a collage of voices and faces,
a medley of lives.
each unique in the world,
all the same in the library café.
My Sound and Fury 