I was on a train from Paris to Amsterdam and with an empty page a sad smile and a pen she was looking out the window across the apple green fields and into the valleys of cobbled villages and ****** churches and as the dead air of Paris was leaving my mind I began to read the reflection of questions in her eyes I wanted to tell her what she already knew that the answers are in the rhythm of the rails and to only underline the words that matter ... Clay.M
I sat on the edge of a teacup, Spinning, spinning in a saucer, My feet dangling in the boiling, Tea-stained water—wondering If it were better to fall forward Or backward.