Issue 162, Summer 2002
As thrushes start together all at once.
Abrupt and charming when they sense the dusk
That was long coming now has come, we lie
Together, back to back, quite still: our sweat
No longer startles, trembles, slips, or spreads.
The air is cool, the light as dim as ice.
I'm glad to feel you breathing. There is time.
There will be time, we must make time for words.
But they are everywhere and afterwards.
The joy is brief. What lasts is how it ends.