Strangers We Mistake for Mirrors by Patrick Haas


Rain sounds like someone
typing. I hear the wet click

of each letter like a shutter
clicked shut. It sounds like

a horse trotting over stone
roads at night. A woman in

heels with something urgent
to say. That’s not to say I

think a woman is a horse or
the other way around. But I

wrote this before I knew what
I was hearing because what

I was hearing kept changing
what I knew before I wrote this.