Poets at Play

Seven miles apart
phones in hands
a mother 
in the flatlands
edging the city
daughter in the forest
of the dunes
swapping similes
to describe evening skies
like the blush of a magnolia
wings of a fluttering monarch
eggs in the nest of a robin 
petals of a long-spur violet
spray of assorted marigolds
face of Annabelle’s blossom
gray of the morning fog.
They debate verbs
to describe clouds
hovering 
retreating 
billowing 
swallowing
streaking
whispering
pausing, 
as they have done, 
to describe 
a winter sunset
so different 
from their vantage points
yet so much the same.