FROM THE LAKESHORE, or A Few Cuttings Randomly Weeded Out From an Unpublished Typescript of YoreScrap the Second

Here only to rest—
Here I spent everything—alone—
mirroring for awhile—and smile.

Illusion—Illusion—
Skylines and lakes, and this same illusion—
heard here in loneliness.

At least a wish to cry—in a room—
to cry for a woman to be here—lust, longing—
Of all this running and bending, something ends.

Sweet girl arow—sadly sitting alone, and
in late afternoon, under the setting sun, coming—

We walk, talking of wrecked loves, and
a loneliness follows—a sad morning—a lively woman—
A woman—

And so they keep on talking to each other—
Sitting, talking—into the shade—among friends—
These few silent smiles—a meeting—
A meeting—A man and a woman, like a poem—

Scrap the Third

#Silent Smiles