The Dangling Conversation

It's a still life watercolor
Of a now-late afternoon
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the roomAnd we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference, like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roarIn the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our livesAnd you read your Emily Dickinson
And I my Robert Frost
And we note our place with book markers
That measure what we've lostLike a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm
Couplets out of rhyme
In syncopated timeAnd the dangled conversation
And the superficial sighs
Are the borders of our livesYes, 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 meLost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
In the borders of our lives