Melville had the sea and Poe his nightmares,
To thrill them and haunt them,
And you have the faces of strangers,
Glimpsed once and never again.
Like that woman whose eye you caught
On a crowded street in New York
Who spun around after she went by you
As if she had just seen a ghost.
Leaving you with a memory of her hand
Rising to touch her flustered face
And muffle what might’ve been something
Being said as she was swept away.
