A willing captive
gripped tight by her eyes,
steely, grey
and sparkling bright
in love
I watch her talk,
a loquacious fluence,
and study her lips like
a foreign language

"your attention is slipping."

"not at all."

"well," she begged
"haven't you ever been in love?"

I must have been
surely, I think
or something more akin
to time standing still,
the sands sculpting a moment
of a thousand lifetimes.

"of course I have."

"where is your love now?"

right here, I think
chronic and immutable,
boxed into lines,
safeguarded and sound
in dreams and reflections,
vicarious,
a farce of mimicry.

"well travelled,"
I would say.

"like blood from a stone.
well,
I'm glad you came,
will you come again?"

and she went,
leaving me
with a pocketful of sand.

of course I will.