Maybe you're high, maybe not.
Either way, you're half of
a conversation that grows
in the night. A seed of chit-
chat roars into a jungle
of topics, blather, laughter,
and--for this neighborhood,
anyway--deep questions.
You wonder, at the end of
night, what these are for,
these night talks. Nothing's
bought or sold, no politics
of the moment, name-dropping,
weather, or work. Nor set stories,
thank god. Just talk--
rare these days, these days
when words get nailed to
walls, kidnapped, suffocated
by intent ignorance, shot dead.
Just talk, easy as a summer tide.
hans ostrom 2021
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