(I came across a poem I’d written for French class years ago, thought I’d give the English version another whirl. not really feelin’ it, but maybe there’s something salvageable in here.)

She said: 

             write me a poem about a fountain

That means nothing, I said, and besides

            So? she said

Besides it’s already been done

She was silent

The sun glinted on her necklace and I was blind

The sun glinted on her necklace
more than it glinted on the fountain

Her fingers brushed against the gold of it
and whole worlds collapsed, were shifted and rebuilt

She laughed at my quiet– caught staring
I looked at the ground, then back

And slowly it dawned on me;
she was the gem at the end of the chain