It is in the magnitude of your hair
(that curling, twist of you)
that I recognize your form: upright and
young against bent and dead shelves
between which you have hidden
all these years.
I break the path your eyes are taking
from one bound book to another
and in the sudden jump your vision makes;
the defying leap from one to me,
I see recognition and alarm.
Our eyes are catching, holding
across a distance we have not
crossed or measured
for fear it may be too hard or
far, too far.
In the slant of your eye I see your fear
and on the soles of your departing
feet I feel each striking footfall;
the tread of our unified death
across the library floor.
In your wake I'm left impotent and trembling;
ineffectual to the core.
AN: A poem inspired by SS/HG, though it could apply to almost any pairing HP or not.