Reflective Counterpoint

Slowly we circled the sculpture
The dark-haired stranger and me
Moving through the irregular rooms
Of the Tate Gallery

Pacing each other from different directions
We’d stop to consider the same points of tension

At first she was merely one face among many
But quickly she singled herself out
Fronting her friend with animated eyes
She’d point at the point I’d just scrutinized

We fell into a rhythm this stranger and me
Noticing (but not) what we each had just seen

Surreptitiously I’d factor her in
Sighting the sculpture with her in my frame
Not once did I catch her eyeing me
Yet we seemed to connect reflectively

In the last room we fell into an
Odd
Diagonal
Dance
Orbiting four Elmwoods
From opposite walls
We watched those golden giants
Fracture and change
Each angle
A re-arranged story
Each edge
Bewitched
By the charm of our shared awareness

Then
Reaching the exit
She skipped out
Dispelling the magic
Of her dark counterpoint