I see her strolling up the path I'm taking,
her course will soon come crashing into mine.
Her head, held high, is firm and never shaking;
her gait—not only mystical, but fine.
My gaze is led to linger on her bearing,
my feet forge on and leave my thoughts behind.
I shake my head, ashamed to be seen staring
—but continue in the staring, with my mind.
Yet suddenly her stride is coming at me,
and I come to for fear lest we collide.
I hug the right to let her slide on past me,
but she—in sync—has also hugged that side.
A dance ensues—in music-mocking silence
—an awkward, misjudged lunging left and right.
The tension here is tantamount to violence.
I sense my burning cheeks both red and bright.