Prospective Conversation

Walking,

we are obsessed

By our shoes' sound,

Our straining

Thighs force this listening.

After,

I shall shape a diadem

Of words and phrases, memorized

Entirely as an aid to love.

Ah,

Ignore these people, these pale manikins

Who smile at what I say.

There is no need to tear them

Apart when we can study reactions

Through the windows of hidden trains.

Later we shall wander through the park,

Oppressed by the weight of our own minds,

Our love for the right thing and nature,

That Chaucer pricked for our delight.

We are not afraid of the trees, the bushes,

The paths, the traveled, boated ponds.

We are not animals: there is pain

In the thought of rutted beasts; those

Who growl and squirm and never can

Walk with themselves and laugh at others.