When he crouched with an eye
to the peephole
hoping for a glimpse
of his neighbor,
who, he was convinced
was beautiful
(“Well, she has a beautiful
voice,” he explained,
“though I’ve yet to actually
see her”)
I couldn’t help
but wonder
whether I saw the captain
of a submarine,
squinting though the waves
for the enemy,
or, rather, an astronomer
wishing a stray comet
might swim by,
so that he could give it his name.