I. That evening with arms wrapped Around the other like barbwire Coiled, recoiled; many Were the words exchanged, spent Like dollar bills til finally We too were out. Where did we end Our song? In the thicket where grass Lies tramped upon by cans, old shoes A rusted rod from a parasol? II. The flyer of kites knows, Has for his protection The extent of words we refuse. We who live in abstract things Drink from abstraction. Fears reduced, we, Once lovers, shadow ourselves As April skies rain upon us. III. “There is no need to cry,” I said to him. “Beyond the city Is the beach; beyond that, The sky.” The stubborn lion Contents himself with his own stubbornness. And I, with his content Must journey the center road And “must,” we sang without refrain.