The void was a unit of darkness, our bodies an instant, a clap.
 
By and by the water shook, no, trembled, on the verge of tears.
 
The leaves had no destination.
 
My face doesn’t tell the time, but everything was cornered, like a lawn.
 
To the left, a deliberate flaw, to the right, a bent flower,
 
I’ve found what I was looking for.
 
Tree-diagrams helped explain the forest:
 
Her eyes, longing over the couch,
 
And her hands. Their beautiful dexterity didn’t tell the time.
 
She left trailing the scent of mimosa, mimos . . .
 
Summer’s salt-laden mist was turning to tears as we spoke.