The house was full of too many words,
so I took the train to town and walked
in the park through the silent, soft
afternoon light among red maples, and
yellow ginkgos. The lake was infested
with greedy ducks. A long orange carp
followed me, or perhaps I followed it,
along the bridge. Ducks paddled over
its head begging for bread. Twice it
surfaced and looked as if it would speak
to me, but apparently thought better of it,
and went back underwater. At the bridge’s
end, a father and his little girl fed the mob
of ducks. The carp swam under the bridge.
We parted without speaking.