Poem: Conversation

That knife
which you left

idle

on the table
has been

reflecting
the dull light

of

the dusty window.

It glistened
when things

got hot,
and

it calmed down
when the breeze–
the light little breeze
from under the door–
cooled

everything
as the apartment plants
switched

from oxygen
to

carbon dioxide
and

it got a bit late
for a

conversation.