You shall receive (and I shall give) A walk into a thunderstorm Along a rail line, skipping Over ties black with use and grease, Feathers edged like knifes shed By Canada Geese, an untrodden meadow Of wildflowers in the middle Of a wood, and from there a view Of a lake with waters crinkled like The corners of your laughing eyes, black Dragonflies mating over the waters, a week old Beard like fine sandpaper polishing Your skin music in smoky dives, babel Of foreign souks, warm bread and knife, A house propped with books – setting A stage for us to converse in Shakespeare, An occasional quarrel with banging doors For rifle shots, a narrow bed in which we Have to lie on our sides, like two mirrors, To fit, a ceaseless turning towards you In desire, need and love, poems Without endings including This one…