The Theory of Other Minds

by Les

At the mall or on the train,
faces meld and the sea of heads
looms like the arc of a wave. No one stands out
except when they remind me
of someone I know.

Then I am on the rickety bridge
where human contact crosses the chasm
that is our strangeness. Hands touching
for the first time will unclasp at some point
where the chain breaks.

Everywhere is a port. We pass through the corner
of someone’s vision. Security scan
at the airport, shifting line at the cinema.
Even in traffic, there is always a sign
that tells you when to move on.
The terminal is never empty.
Flights are never really grounded,
only delayed.

Not that connecting is impossible, but that
it is unavoidable. Water rings on the table
remind me I don’t exist alone
and no amount of wiping
will reabsorb the stain of you,
beloved stranger.