It’s all in the nuances.
It’s all in the play of light.
It’s all in the suspended will of the observer.
You watch the world go by as though it might endure,
as though repeated acts would bring in a seed-harvest,
as though the streets were references sensitive to touch.
You watch as though you yourself might endure there.
You watch like this with no pretext, detached
from what is happening, that’s how you watch,
you watch yourself, and you watch your back.