I did not expect a reply
The reply I received
Was not to be expected
Three strands of news
Sincerely, or insincerely
Twisted tentatively together
It may take awhile to respond
First a private investigation
Probing deep into memories
The question whether, or
Not I will make a contribution
Is placed on the pending pile
Meanwhile, I smile & ponder
My poet never was read; she
Didn’t see what Mallarmé said
Of course I checked my inbox
Five times, maybe more
Before her message arrived
It is what we do, blessed
With our recent insecurity
Of not ever really knowing
Not showing our doubts, never
Being found out; heaven is in
The owning & forever disowning
As the afternoon sun
Warms the motorway mist
Why do I insist on recollection
Is it a desire to swerve; avoidance
My place of deception, caught
Out by her untimely reception
