Borrowed Sight

It's a small thing,

a little sun-spot that never really

caught the sun,

faded brown on the curve

of my neck, just behind the ear.

I'd forgotten it was there.

Noticed it first on a mirror's edge,

then never again, not really.

Just another map point

I don't navigate by.

But you, new coworker,

leaning in over the coffee machine,

said, 'Hey, I have one just like that'

and touched your own skin, almost.

And suddenly it was a beacon.

A small, flat, brown exposure

I hadn't offered, but you saw.

My own skin, through your eyes,

a small thing, suddenly public.