We're never completely in one place. Some part Of us hangs out on streets we barely remember, Or converses with faces no longer familiar. Or we start Lunch in June, and sneak off into December.
Every encounter has a beginning, but never An ending.
Like an exquisite ecosphere, The mind turns each raindrop into forever, Nor does it allow one word to disappear. Some evening, years from now, we'll be driving home, Talking, I in your car, or you In mine, driving through rich Iowa loam, Or flowering Jersey suburbs, or Kalamazoo. It will not matter, as we speak, whether Our lives are bitter or sweet. We'll be together.