Be patient, poems,
as I have been with you.
Our time round, but not round like
a game of golf, a mushroom cap,
a beach ball, acorn, moon.
Round in circles, our time together.
We pass each other, over and over,
catch glimpses of the other’s face
face in the crowd,
There. That girl with the red dress and cherry lips,
eating cotton candy—
You choose, Poem.
She can be me or you
this time around.