He could not help feeling a twinge of panic.
He sat back down in his chair, slightly ashamed
of himself, and laid down his pen.
It had got to be written down, it had got to be confessed.

At last they were face to face, and it seemed that
his only impulse was to run away.
He reached out for the discarded overalls and pulled
them partly over her.
It was more than a week since they had
seen one another.
He held Julia’s supple waist, easily.
The birds sang.

He was the instigator, he was the friend.
He still had not asked the question that
had come into his mind first.
He had moved a little to one side.
She made no response whatsoever to
the clasp of his arm.

He pushed the picture out of his
mind. It was a false memory.
Two tears trickled down the sides of his nose.
It was intended only to express simple, purposive thoughts.
Anything could be true.