The Meeting

 

 

If we meet upon the road
it must be at the end of speech,
no talk of origins in midday heat
nor within the shadiness of trees.

Two men weary
of the dust of roads; night-skies
of finished words unreachable
behind the sun and dazzled plain.

The road unmade,
home of small beginnings, ours,
on the edge of day, that upright stone
which stands against the measurement of time.

 

 

 

The Muffled drum