Alone on the lonely bridge
Where the river chortles under eternally
I ran into a Scottish lady.
She was recording
The gurgling sound
Of the running water.
She switched the machine off
And said,
With her opal eyes
Fixed on me:
“This continuous gentle trilling,
This everlasting murmur
Of the flowing water
Is the sure-fire cure
For all ailments of heart.
It works magic
On my jangled nerves.
Have you read
Chekov’s THE KISS?
Nothing really matters, you know.”
I felt as if
I had met her before.