I Know You Do
I know you do sit in the warm car
and hesitate before applying key to ignition,
the still, hot air a just-filled bath.
I know you do harmonize with the dial tone
when you place the receiver against your ear.
I know you do feel unsettled
when you brush a long strand of dark hair
from the stiff wool of your coat.
I know you do wonder if you locked the door
ten paces from your home.
I know you do run a fingertip
along an image, a line of text in a book
that speaks to you,
as if to answer it.
I know, I know. You do these things
from the privacy of your brain.
But haven’t you suspected
you are being listened to, looked at.
I know you do.