she is looking at me across the room,

she is looking at everyone, yes, but she is looking at me.

a man sits to my left,
a woman in front of me,
and a group of three teenagers,
up at the stage's edge.

she keeps singing,
her voice is glassy,
pristine and untouched,
a distant simplicity its source of strength.

she is looking at me, she is looking at me,

she sings the chorus;

the words shatter;

the syllables cloud with smog;

each morpheme turns dark,

and she is looking at me.

I glance at the man,
and the woman,
and the kids,
but they are all entranced;

on her, with her,
as assured that she is looking at each of them
as I am that she is looking at me.

the refrain,
but her eyes do not,
it does not stop,
there is only one verse until this is all over,
and there is no break,
and there is no rest,

she is looking at me,

the last words charge from her entire being into mine,

the song ends,
and she walks off stage,
and the man leaves,
and the teenagers talk at each other,
and the woman touches her hair,
and I do nothing
because she is still looking at me.