Strangers

Perhaps at another

Time

In another zone

They were lovers,

Or if parallels

Be true,

Perhaps the uncanny,

The déjà-vu,

Is simply stardust

Spilling over,

Dusting them with

Wonder,

A tugging, haunting,

Knowing,

Not knowing,

Each time they meet

Unexpectedly,

In person, in words,

Or touch together

Dreaming or

Soaking in the pool

Of inspiration.

Stephen Nesbitt ©