the audience

an invisible audience watches us
on these winter evenings,
smiling to themselves and taking notes
in a shorthand that looks like fault lines.
I don’t know if they are time travelers, or gods,
or ghosts, but we are famous to them,
everything we do is of great importance
in this remote apartment.
of this, we are totally unaware,
though their presence is what
shapes our winter intuition. outside,
meteors fall silently into snow.