September 18, 2016

Talk


Some days my tea

seems to finish

all by itself,

the cup nearly empty

before I know it's gone,

like our conversation,

almost over

before it's begun.

I hear drifting words

flowing all around,

each one I use

in a place 

of its own.

I cannot see them

but know they're

already here,

word upon word arriving,

like children waiting

to be fed, each hungry

to be heard,

sometimes choosing me,

other times you,

instead.