Water dripping,
Drops plop, plop
Into that pot
In the kitchen sink.
And I can hear me think.
I want to sink
Into the couch.
He sits there, slouched.
This silence forlorn,
Stretches the length of the room,
Like a railroad platform.
We have arrived at the end of words.
Drip, plop,
Drip, plop.
I smile.
The tea is drained.
Our minds and our teeth
Are stained
With the knowledge
That, at least, we two strangers
Failed to cross the breach.
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