we spent our days in the shade of strangers
kissed the danger of the main-line incision
no breath to give voice to the decision
no finding to weight the belief

and the mind and the eye
seldom find the time to
compare notes on why the center of the stranger
comes through as nothing
blinded by the lack
of light in the reflection

behind the precision of attack
further than the pitch or the angle
lie the secret motivations
lie the kisses of angels

and if there's time to die
then there's time for wine to
toast the idea of a stranger
coming out as nothing
finding at the back
the mind contains reflections
of the being that's you