Why did I cross the road in front of your horse and then cross again?
I am the ground beneath those hooves. You say nothing, yet I feel the grace of being lost in you
as color lives in a garden.
As David knows metallurgy
and the craft of welding chainmail, I am inside the smooth linkage.
Your secret army infiltrates me. Nothing remains to look for.
This wine is clear, and this one clouded with sediment. I drink both.