Self-Portrait As an Echo

I was only able to see you in mirrors
so your image wasn’t constant
or clear.

When steam from a hot tap
streaked the glass and the walls swelled,
you disappeared.

In the park, I looked up
from a slate of pond you leaned over
and found you again, through rippled pupils.

You were handing out leaflets on the corner;
I was the only taker. I reached
for a copy, our hands never touched.

We locked eyes in a storefront window
as you passed, alarmed at the warps
but pretending disinterest.

Now, when I waver at an entrance,
you walk ahead and check the gate.

We sit opposite each other on the subway,
always on the verge of recognition.