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Evening NewsTo Eric Hoffman's previous piece

Conversation Piece

The heat broken, the sky
paled into grey  we walk
through this summer afternoon
lead by uncertain footsteps. The air
we breathe is bloated from humidity.

You tease me with your gentle
voice as clouds groan
with ominous thunder.
A storm front hungrily approaches.
I no longer want this,

this dance of guessing steps,
the meaning of your words
sublime and tangled.
Simply broken truths.
Say what you must say, say it

concrete as a sure footing,
alive and recognizable 
a conversation empty
of the stumbling blocks
of pity and vagueness.

Let the words rain down.
Let their meanings pour
on us from our little mouths.
The storm front breaks,
ten million raindrops

fall all at once,
purely drenching us
in open water. An applause
of oxygen. Our breaths
breathe in its wetness,

my mind soaks up
your quiet conversation,
sponging silences nestled
in between the thousand
separate voices of the rain.

What must be understood
will happen, the rest
merely vanishes, all the same.

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