We alter what we watch. Maureen looks past me,
to the frame of the picture behind me.
Her eyes are green, and I watch them for what they see
as she frames her mouth to speak to me.
A man at a table behind her lights a match.
My look strikes him, then comes back. I catch
the end of her glance. Something clicks like a latch.
Maureen looks past me. We alter what we watch.
David Milley
