We Stand, Not Quite in Lines

We Stand, Not Quite in Lines


We stand, not quite in lines,
Waiting, looking downstream;
There is no stirring of
The air for some time, then
A wetted finger might
Know. Now, a penumbra

Hails us from the dark, from
Deep inside the tunnel,
From the direction whence
We leave, then a single
Eye flashes, then two
Where one once flash'd, till

The breeze a wind becomes
And suddenly in glass
And steel, repeating only
I only see my my
My face, my my face, my
Face. My face. My face. My face.


L. Steve Schmersal, We Stand, Not Quite in Lines, June 2016