A segment of thought appears neatly        on the table
Voices spill
Breath spills out
                    Of summer windows—
Of the places where we breathe
                                    Before speaking
Before we drown
            In a river, in
            An idea of
            A river, in
            A surplus, the very
            Strangers in a room
There is a gape between strangers
In a room, measuring distance— another
                                    For goodbye
Wipe that blotch of            light off your face
                Swim            the distance
                                Between stars—
                    That kid getting off
                                                    The schoolbus
            Won’t be able to provide
Any answers
                    Tremble, like a silk
                                        Scarf in the wind
        Then fall down laughing—
It’s best if you don’t

Mark DuCharme