When They See Through Mountains

I wonder what he sees looking through that window
at me, I am on the other side of it, but it only goes
the one way, he must see his reflection, if the laws
of physics and optics are to be believed at all.

But, some part of me hopes that he can see me
through that glass and more then see me, perhaps
he will look through my skin and this mortal shell.
Perhaps he will know something about me intimately

without an explanation, or the sort of knowing that
comes from reading someone's writing. I think, though,
that that may be the sort of knowing that only gods
are prone to when they see through mountains.

If I'm to be seen by anyone today I must brush my hair
(and by that I mean nothing physical, I think you know.)