Three Poems

“I Am Composing a Song”
”Incompatible”
”That Ancient Village”

Strawberries

At some point he would walk to her, or she would walk to him. Maybe they would walk to each other. Or maybe this was a dream, an entirely reasonable performance of the unconscious mind. She would think, upon waking, that was something. But it wasn’t anything, not yet. She was still deciding who she would be, and he was deciding too.