It was a cafe in Time. It was
an evening in space. You twomet, talked and listened, heard
and spoke. Eyes seeing faces.
Nostrils noting aromas, Gestures,
shifts of bodies. Smiles, giggles,
frowns. Tendrils of thought
intertwining. The unfolding
took you to a precipice. Where
a thin, swaying bridge made
of rusty cables and gray boards
offered a way across a chasm,
a segment of two lives' times,
a space called risk.
Hans Ostrom 2025
