I'm trying to have an intimate discussion
but the bastard keeps repeating himself
and I just know I'm going to be late.

"Haven't you learned anything?" the wind
seems to say, patting me on the shoulder
so that I turn around and wonder who.

Now, i don't know which way to go for the
rest of this poem, and I'll be damned if a horned
owl can penetrate my deepest concern.

The universe arrives in perfect time ever on the right track.
Stepping in, I step out. No one knows who is who in the dark
without first having been touched, then recognized.

A swallow swoops into the picture, performs an aerial ballet,
plucks bits and pieces of our conversation and then
wings away.