The Hours

Two serious women have such active eyes.
I watch them turn into each other
asking questions, asking for words.

They adorn themselves
like they are serious
and everyone wants their invitations.

When they look together something tangiable moves between them.
Each turns her head into the other's path,
each stopping the other

deflecting the flow of time.
Serious, masses of memories,
capable of poetry,

novel meanings.
Walking the wet streets
in shiny new leather.