I like to sit by rainy streams and
watch the smoke from little homes
creep through grass, time fading,
fading barren fields, carnation wisps
of clouds appear as master strokes
descending over swallows serenading
poplar rows and evening trains.
I like to sit with you and think
how we perceive the night sky,
what we mean to say, could even
written love be razed with pain
or war? if fear like hunger too
is just a state, and sex – a word, a
space – is what one fills it with.