Surface

I was holding the glass

at the table where no one asked me anything.

The condensation was beading up,

running down the sides,

pooling at the base.

Someone was talking about the movie

they'd already seen without me.

Someone was laughing about times and places.

I was watching the water drip

onto my jeans without noticing.

When I left, I looked back.

There was a ring where the glass had been,

already disappearing,

already fading into the wood.

The water was still there

but it was leaving,

becoming invisible.

I know how that goes.

I know how you can sit

at a table full of people

and still be

evaporating.