To Nick and Dave at 381

Each morning I make my way
To this familiar place:
This refuge from the world
Located inside a public place.
I sit in the corner day after day
Taking in the atmosphere;
Surveying the faces of other regulars,
I see in each storm-swept impression,
That lingers on the surface of each face
Before it quietly slips away,
Ripples of meaning, moving outwards
Towards an imagined centre.

Under a grey tent of cloud
I sit here allowing my mind to wander
Over past understandings;
A flawed memory looks backwards
To make sense of the past.

In this place for fugitives
All are dispossessed
Running from a scorching world;
In here life is safely captured
In the reflections of a mirrored wall.
An outside sends us out of ourselves,
Eye meets eye,
Torn apart by contradiction
We are thrown into a sifting world.

Glancing over to the side of the room
I find myself lost
To reflections sent by another.
In the space of a glance
We explore a place between inner and outer.
These perceptions mould our world
Forming a dispersed self
That must find sense in this fragmented world;
Reflections formed by reflections,
We move between understanding and understanding,
Always with a vague sense
That things could be otherwise.