4. Shall We Three Meet

again to discuss cinquain, how
trains meld with forests and
the web wine spins widdershins
around the minutes of a
conversation?  Like rhythm in
a song, or perhaps drumbeat,
a cartel of lyrics supporting love,
the flavour of decisions, the
sounds when an argument dies —
shall we three dissect  the
meaning of each motion when
our bodies interject?  I love
the way your eyes reflect
the past, the manner of your
hair, your smile, your memories
a plucked guitar, so sharp and
clear one moment and the next
distorted heavy steps across
the graves of all our actions.


On a good day, we walk the trail
by the river; on a bad day, we
wait in an empty railway station.