(if) we meet again at the hairpin bend.
you still young, mother of one or two
me older, father of one or two or none.
(if) we meet again at the fogged swirl.
what’ll we talk of
what’ll we speak of
interim silence will speak
as we both
will want to talk
will want to speak…
the sun will pencil on your lips, my mouth…
if, we ever meet, again, what’ll be our excuses–
to talk… what’ll be our prologue to start…
we’ll just let the leaves flow as we pass each other…
My first collection of poems 29 now available at Amazon.