It‘s a still life water color 
Of a now late afternoon 
As the sun shines through the curtain lace 
And shadows wash the room 
And we sit and drink our coffee 
Couched in our indifference 
Like shells upon the shore 
You can hear the ocean roar 
In the dangling conversation 
And the superficial sighs 
The borders of our lives 

And you read your Emily Dickinson 
And I my Robert Frost 
And we note our place with bookmarkers 
That measure what we‘ve lost 
Like a poem poorly written 
We are verses out of rhythm 
Couplets out of rhyme 
In syncopated time 
And the dangling conversation 
And the superficial sighs 
Are the borders of our lives 

Yes, we speak of things that matter 
With words that must be said 
‘Can analysis be worthwhile?‘ 
‘Is the theater really dead?‘ 
And how the room is softly faded 
And I only kiss your shadow 
I cannot feel your hand 
You‘re a stranger now unto me 
Lost in the dangling conversation 
And the superficial sighs 
In the borders of our lives

1966г.

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