In the Conversation

Randall David Tipton

Randall David Tipton

In the conversation
you are rambling along
a tour bus on a mountain road
the timbre of your words bouncing
around on the washboard track
and at one single word
my attention is lost

That word as if code
opens a file in my mind
gone hidden these many years
I am walking with you in the woods
stepping high over roots bared
by winter wind and rain
in an old rain forest

We walk single file
for the tract is narrow
the footing more treacherous
than we can manage at our pace
but our minds melded as one
drinking forest scents
of lichen and moss

At the small spring
we stop to catch breaths
You cup your hands and offer
me a soft drink of water so sweet
scented as it is of the lavender
in which you last bathed
My weariness melts

Spring was the word
you used that carried me
away to that day so long ago
when cupped hands could still fill
Now in these autumn years
hands rarely cup any more
fill with but the wind

About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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3 Responses to In the Conversation

  1. I’ve heard it said that love found in spring never lasts – I think you proved that wrong

    Liked by 1 person

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