Salt. Salt dosed with a hint of peach and hickory
or a cool wind just after Twilight.
A woman lost, spoke from the side street: "What of faith
(even those tagged on the walls of alleys or along abandoned houses)
when the hold of softened hands
are drawn apart as they inevitably are?“
Respond:
But what of the guarded lust of parted lovers
Or the peace of a Sunday waking?
the whispers of things as they tremble by
are the quintessential sip
that faith could only envy.