That evening with arms wrapped
Around the other like barbwire
Coiled, recoiled; many
Were the words exchanged, spent
Like dollar bills til finally
We too were out. Where did we end
Our song?
In the thicket where grass
Lies tramped upon by cans, old shoes
A rusted rod from a parasol?

The flyer of kites knows,
Has for his protection
The extent of words we refuse.
We who live in abstract things
Drink from abstraction.
Fears reduced, we,
Once lovers, shadow ourselves
As April skies rain upon us.

“There is no need to cry,”
I said to him. “Beyond the city
Is the beach; beyond that,
The sky.” The stubborn lion
Contents himself with his own stubbornness.
And I, with his content
Must journey the center road
And “must,” we sang without refrain.