Spellbound

Two women on a train

sit beside me.

I am young and the world

is flying and I am watching.

One of them is frosty.

The other turns like a leaf

to hand me something —

it looked for all the world like a page.

I thought at the time

that it needed me and I was right.

The letters fell into place

and simple flowers grew.

Now it talks unceasingly

in long white verses

as if at a wedding,

something women understand

and gently want and then regift.

I myself agree with Herbert,

who in a dark mood conjured

the mushrooms underfoot

unseen by bride or groom

and with him I say, Perhaps

the world is unimportant

after all, though this is not

what one discusses with

women on a train, no matter

how long the journey,

or untroubled the land.