The electrical box, on its side, reads "potion?"
and the park's swings each hold a softly swinging body
like a globule of
warmth. Elsewhere,
rabbits buzz across the flaking concrete
and the soft careening of lives
pulses from within houses.
I ask you what love is for and you,
lithely smiling from within me,
throw some quote from the old Japanese book at me.
I know that's not your answer
but the words still goad me.
The electrical box, all around, is encased in plastic
and the street's corners each caress a softly breathing body
like a spindle of
breath. Elsewhere,
bees hum around the window
and the coruscating stories of lives
unfold inside houses.
I insist and demand you tell me what love is for and you,
shrugging into the space you hold within me,
finally relent and say:
"why, it is to find out what the next poem sounds like
you absolute fool".