Two voices faint and distant, fade in to range of hearing.

Voice 1. …Foolish?
yes, I suppose it is.

Voice 2. Yet you keep wishful dreaming

as daylight fast departs beneath the window sill?

Voice 1. Certainly. What more is there to this than dream?

Voice 2. What more? What more but lips arisen supple in

caress of velveteen fingers? What more but bakers bread
early morning birthed? What more but Zepplin late-night
swirling minds baked on youth and wine?

Voice 1. A dream. I say a dream.

An expectation? No. A presupposition

of pro-longed pleasure past periods
of pleasure procreation, maybe.

Destiny is nothing if not an acceptance of futility.

Fight the wave? Wrestle the tide?

Why not let it crash unhindered?
Why not love the salt for the sting?

Voice 2. So you wander then?

On until the breath betrays the heart?

You know Hermetic remedies for wander-lust

include both eternal love and suicide?

Voice 1. …

Voice 2. So you wander then?

Voice 1. Yes. I suppose.

I wander.
or wonder.
One minute vowel switch--
a simple vertical dash removed. or added.
One becomes aloof and One becomes a fool.
Yes. I suppose I wander, wondering where
it all went.