SEASONS LAYER UPON SILENCE

Bitter, the tea leaves floating in the distance.

I think I hear you, but I don’t hear you…

said a woman’s voice, & the dark-showers, the muted-light

that quivered, liquid-stations, waiting for

hours it seemed, & for what purpose?  There

was something refused-to-change…

I observe the blossoms, a distant-drift
in winds I nearly confuse for snow,

the motions lift in reiterations.  It got hit…   

said a man’s voice, & I, here in the

midst…  The faded greys of the station

& the deep-red of a police-box.  The autumn

hung there listless as the last-leaves

clinging to a branch.  & then they shot me with the invisible-dart...   

It seemed almost to make sense, thinking

back on our history, the fragments

of speech-swirling in distant-elms, ever

that tinge of having done this before, & yet here
is something new: a girl sees

me looking, bands up her hair, w/

eyes-bright, the soft-light of the café

cascades in lucid-streams
she loosens & tosses to one side...  

A slouchy-sweater dangles over her tank-top

& a sweet-silent communic-

ation takes place.  Her eyes-smile

& the past distills into a

moment’s breath…  Right here,

I said, but had she heard

me?  Right now…