She sat alone accompanied by bound friends reading from one,
and waited upon by a cup filled with caffeine’s intoxication.
Her eyes found mine in a flick, and spoke a barred-up welcome,
Then came the sideways huff as if to dismiss an aberration.

I was not real, my flesh turned transparent in that glance,
Two crossbow bolts aimed at all who brave an advance;
Like a wounded animal, or an abused pet bristles mistrust.
To be fair my absent mind may have warranted disgust.

I might have misplaced her name in a poor substitute.
I might have mistaken her identity in passing salute.
I might have been oblivious to some personal foul.
My existence might have been more than grace could allow.

My pitiable state inoculated me against Medusa’s gaze,
for only men are frozen by her eye’s disinterested weight.
A drizzling cloud preceded me, shrouding me in apathy,
an armor suit, a dressing for my sense’s mortal casualty.

For years I walked by unphased, like a wraith of gloom, faceless.
I would pass that table many times without appraising her virtue.
My oblivious breastplate on, and with a visor smile, I felt impervious
to the danger, then the clouds began lifting, the son broke through.

I could feel again!

Even now that I know her name, I never discovered the nature of her wound
That table sits empty ever since her new friends entered service,
Though she hasn’t lost the faithful books who occasionally surface,
And as far as I could tell, her skies were turning to.

She could see then!

TBC