The Talking Stranger Poem by James McLain

though i only move about
the out side of it...
some times i see through..
to the face on the other side..
and as i gently some times..
a little more firmly untill she does...
and repeating it over and over..
until she cries...
and being mostly she does...
being his sister..
left me to thinking..
why would he ask me that?
Crazier than the crazy old man..
I left back down yonder..
a spell....
i hate moving on.....
but i must..