A Dialogue
[sometime in October]

Leslie Olson + John Timmons

I contemplate our names
Written about untraveled voyages
Where the paint is old, scratched and
Flaking onto bridges;
Each beginning, then existing, while
Covering and belonging. Gradually
Taking deep breaths with closed eyes, only
Exhaling with each turn.

Temperatures change the
Ways of forgiving and point to others,
Confusing our abilities to know.
There are only falling leaves, silently
Falling uncontrollably beside the ferns.
Smoothly sweetening the slope of the hillside
That speaks to you from the furthest corners,
Lightly brushing the cheeks of the
Oldest memories of the past.

Another spark glistens
Without the sound of music
Challenges the seeker and withholds
Everytime you inhale:
Conscious understanding that never has
Displays of arrogance.