There in the almost dark dusk of early spring we knelt side by side by the wet concrete and you told me to go first and I said, No you first so we started together and the sticks broke in that thick wet stone. We should have known but how could we? That what flowed smooth in the day would be firm in the night. Less like writing and more a scratching the effort made us strain, at last we each drew our own half of the heart that outlined us and with the veil of night we ran home laughing. I passed that spot today—I saw them breaking and carting away our slab without ceremony
