On the banks he stood
Far apart but on the root
Of that which held her and him up
And out like a hat brim tipped
The willow leg stretched and dipped
Through silt, and muck
Looking as stuck
As she was once on him
What is left is thin
So we either begin and end or end and begin
It depends if we agree
Where our parts are stuck in
To each other
and of course,
If we each want to bother…
Thin Tin String 