I pass by, a passer-by
postponing passing
to stand still
and read

I hear sounds, I see people
a known world, a story
in which I recognize something
of myself, as in a photo

Curiously I look
for the poetess, she is seated
in her verses, peeking
I push them aside

Who would she be without?
A heart, an oracle
that extends my view
and throws it on other lives?