One very old soul said to the other,
“Did they see us? Were those the cops?”
But no one paid any attention to them—
Two hotties feeling illicit, who’d deserted their company
Threshing like a field or tapestry together.
Under cover of night shadows and canopy of vines
They squatted to plant their power centers
Reaching down to the place of origin.
At the house show one young punk said to the other,
“I got the pain,” and warmth and light flowed
From her face as her soft eyes caressed each being.
One very old soul said, “I only want love”
And the guidance counselor replied, “Remember that you are a very old soul”
“…while she is not, and so she cannot meet you.”
When Mrs. Ebaugh, the guidance counselor, modeled for studio art
Both the very old soul’s and her beloved’s portraits
Earned good grades and praise for depth of feeling
Tapped as if from springs of timeless wisdom.
One soul so old she was like the mother of the world
To the host of the radio program “Good Reads”
Said, “It was difficult to return
With the taste of death in my mouth, my body
My mind’s mouth and my mind’s body
Which was sublime and unexpected”
Souls ripened and fell that were listening.
An “X” was implied in the space between
The old feeling young and vice versa.
Two old girls slept in the same bed during an extended sleepover
One said to the other, “Sister, it’s like we’ve been here before.”