Grapevine
We were having
identical identity
crises, as in an
early poem by
John Ashbery.
Of who we and
all they are
you all now
know, don't you?
Although to be as
tall in the air as
you are is to have
your head examined
by clouds, right?
***
Whenever
The sound of traffic
overhead means we
are on solid ground.
Words I previously
distanced myself from
have come back to
haunt me. I prefer
unfinished symphonies
to finished elegies.
I'm afraid I was
listening to your
poem in prose. I will
try again later,
whenever that is.
***
Notwithstanding
A cluster of small
white buds at
odds with what
I'm trying to say
finds its way
into our conversation
regarding utter nonsense
and the role it seems
to play in much of
post-modern poetry,
your subtle reference
to the way waves
return unerringly
notwithstanding.
***
***
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