We walk through streets empty of all language

We walk through streets empty of all language
and so I say nothing accordingly.
Not looking at you is hard to manage

and I never do these things well. I see
you from the corner of my eye, elsewhere,
turned away, focused peripherally.

There is a clear glass coldness to the air.
The traffic is as it always is - raw
on the senses and evil on the ear,

but this is less important. If you saw
in the reflections from the car windows
my brief glances at you, you might have more

idea. But some things you might never know,
and I might never risk the damage
to the present, the fraction I have now.