The Loop

He tied his apron, same as last

week. Same knot, the same swift hand.

The light, the precise way it was cast.

I stood there, trying to understand.

This street, this bakery, this warm air,

this exact angle of the morning sun.

It’s happened before. I swear,

this precise moment, it has run

already. A flicker, quick and strange.

My breath caught. Was it a dream,

or just my mind in disarrange?

Another turn in the same old stream.

He looks up, meets my eye, then smiles.

A different smile, perhaps, but still

the feeling lingers, across the miles

of time. Against my own free will,

I want to check. To ask. To know.

But the moment passes, soft and slow.