afternoon of therapeutic monologues
uncertain whether i was reading
or misreading signs never posted
she arrived shut, a book determined
not to be read, yet
flaunting the presence of its text.
i arrived unaware of the stories
i was holding,
packed tight & hidden like drugs
for a dealer trying to avoid prison.
hoping to write a new romance,
confessing instead old guilts
we sat inside the afternoon
drinking a grassy tea whose water was
never quite hot enough to steep
we pretended the dragon was white.
leaning over the koi pond before we departed,
we admired that perfected pool of heaven
calm enough to reflect the overcast sky
such a slight distance from garden to dragon.
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