he said, who are you? she said, the me of me? the one i cannot clearly see? a seamless pool pressed by a tender breeze, mirroring itself in half-inches.

she said, who are we? he said, we are the two bodies, by accident, alive, coincident without confluence, stream without wake.

this morning, there was green on green on green, a bit of yellow, less brown, a handful of tamarind clinging to the tree.