One morning
Hafiz was giving
a seaside discourse
on the subject of Love.
The wind was whipping
in off the surf, causing
flags to flutter and hats to fly.
Overhead, gray clouds and brilliant sun
were vying for dominance,
swirling around one another
so that the sky appeared to boil like a kettle.

A woman near the back stood
to ask a question.
“What about the hockey problem?”

The wind carried her words
directly from her mouth
to the next town over,
like trails of smoke
released into a wind tunnel.

“The house key problem?”
Hafiz replied, his hand
cupped to his ear.  “This
is no problem, surely-“

“No, no!” she cried.
“The hockey problem!”
The act of yelling
really seemed to dislodge something
because she was off and running,
like a race horse lunging from the starting gate.
“All those goons crashing into each other,
smashing one another
up…