Spellbound

Two women on a train sit beside me. I am young and the world is flying and I am watching. One of them is frosty. The other turns like a leaf to hand me something — it looked for all the world like a page. I thought at the time that it needed me and I was right. The letters fell into place and simple flowers grew. Now it talks unceasingly in long white verses as if at a wedding, something women understand and gently want and then regift. I myself agree with Herbert, who in a dark mood conjured the mushrooms underfoot unseen by bride or groom and with him I say, Perhaps the world is unimportant after all, though this is not what one discusses with women on a train, no matter how long the journey, or untroubled the land.