You said you would only know for sure once
you saw her in person, so you flew to the Louvre
and you saw her as he once did, sitting upright
all day against the wall, smiling so softly
at the crowd, not smiling to you,
and you thought:
she’s smaller than I expected but
not as small as I had imagined.
I had hoped you would be sure after
you saw her in person, when you returned home,
but you never look at me as you once did.
Last night I awoke to you crying so hard
you looked like you were laughing,
and I thought:
each of us is at best a study in perspective
with an incomprehensible aura and a mouth
cracking with time.