The conversation
The tree was bare
The ripe fruits picked
Stored out of sight
The most important sign
Was found in absence
As if you and I were never here
And words had been the buffers
That diminished the silence
Almost to nothing
Not quite there yet
As if clocks had a different face
Turning in away from minutes
And scraped back hair
The table was full of distance
And safety
I imagined walking away
Steeped in white shores
Lost in the sand
Knowing the dots on the horizon
Were as strange as that familiar face
And with time shifting place
I would meet you again here
Always beginning
For the first time
[After conversations ended]
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poem by Yvette Smith
Added by Poetry Lover
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