I scribble your name on a napkin,
To help me remember it, and draw
A star beside it–you are visible,
Yet out of reach. I experience
A sinking sensation, as if tiles
From the floor are tugging on my ankles,
Whenever you appear on stage.
Whenever I wave at you, you look
Pass me. Either colored clouds obscure
Your view or I blend into the dimly lit
Background. This must be how I fade.
Your reaction is not rare; I fail
To exist in too many eyes that
I seek my reflection in. After each
Time, it grows more difficult for me
To regain my tangibility.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen