In That Gaze

by Leah Armstead


One face among

many—delicate

as a serpentine

moonray,

utterly empty,

a secret face,

mouth open

as the night is

but mute—bears

candle-lit eyes

witnessing

the world

without interest.

Lost poems mean

nothing.

Friendships pale.

There is just seeing:

meaningless.

If only my gaze

could be met and

my name called out,

and to know that it

mattered, did not

need alteration,

as from a high altitude

landscape unfolds

leaving no doubts,

no question at all

that it should

or could be

anything other than

what it is.

Leah Armstead lives in Aberystwyth and has had poems published in Ragged Raven, Leaf Books, Recusant, and Pipeworks among others.

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