They talked beneath the sky (…)

while the

waning sun gave movement to

finger tips grown from the

bark of trees …

(a dove sang about the first day of summer…)

surrounding parallel lives sensed

vibrations and stopped to

listen …


when leftover crust dropped onto a

cardboard box

it came time to

bathe in the soft down pollen of the senses

… over parted lips …

a song beneath the whisper in

concert with the dove singing

distant songs of summers past,

the songs they knew

so well …