A FACE IN THE CROWD

In the flood of faces gushing from turnstiles
Each of us sees the other with vacant eyes
Acknowledging we have seen and not seen
Through one another’s mask, each with a task
Known to our silence, deep in thought or dream;

How some faces speak so humbly of desire
Longing for the palpitating heart on fire;
How the old hide their scars of aging romance
While the young boast their youthful staging;
And there is you, there is me, a chance meeting

Like two plain roses in a field of wildflowers,
Telling the tales of our roots and lonely hours
Among the masses seething below the icy towers-
We memorize our reflections as a mirror,
Our faces not afraid to stare, to praise, be nearer.