Proximity (Poetry)

Still strangers then -
back when the shapes we each carved from our day
surely overlapped from time to time -
did we, perhaps, brush shoulders in the street?
Our routine to and fros
criss-crossing, not knowing
quite how close we came.

How often did we oh-so-nearly meet
but miss by merely seconds -
swanning down our usual route,
caught in a common stream?

Much later, we look back and second guess
the probabilities -
imagine, once or twice, we may have glanced,
curious but finding no significance,
no hint of dejá vu or vague affinity,
simply walked on by.

Now we share the same front door
and wonder how we ever lived apart -
those years of almost touching like a dream
of footsteps coming closer in the dark.