As You Read This

You think you are alone.
I watch your hands
flash white
at turn of page,
follow your eyes
from line to line.
Hands do not blush,
the reading eye
cannot avert,
the mind
does not suspect
my omnipresence.
Counting the beat
your fingers trace
these lines.
You even whisper them
as though my ear
were intimate.
You never suspect
I dream of you,
touch back
your outreached consciousness.
Concealed amid typography,
sighing in each caesura,
intake of breath at every comma,
I am like a boy in the shrubbery,
lover in moonlit garden,
a bare toe jutting
     amid the footnotes.
Though you be shy,
doe-wary and skittish,
I stalk this poem,

alert between letters.
Watch all you will
for hawk and hunter,
I am in and on the river
of word-flow.
Casting my net
   mid-ship between stanzas
I shall catch you.

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