In the Library

I saw her once seeing me
From between the stacks
Of Drama and Dramaturgy.

She shifted her eyes
To the dusty spines,
Even pulled out a book to read.

But in the flash
Between this and that
I saw her seeing me.

Was it deliberate
The split-second delay,
Did she mean me to see?

Or did it betray
The heart of someone
She didn’t want to be?

I think of this, and her,
Lying awake at night,
Does she ever think of me?