Except for faces and hands, there is no surface
that defines our mutual convergence.

“Your blue is clear / as on the first day.
In your presence I am a man …”

She stared at the sky, asking herself, “How much poetry
will a man use, like a dog, sniffing at crust?”

I replied, “For the answer to become clear,
we simply need to ask.”

“But your grandfather and grandmother gradually
forgot. Your relatives all forgot.”

She thought breeding education should accompany
the general education: “Oh, I’m an average breeder.”

“The ram leaped / and the seal
disported on small rocks …”

She shrieked. The water was thigh deep
and freezing. Our bodies were finally cooling.

After a day and a night, we left / the island
and walked back to the village.

We were out of food, but food had become
like distance and time.

04/21/2010

Posted on 04/21/2010
Copyright © 2026 Jim Benz