I garden my remembrances
My roses are speared with thorns
My arms bruised,
My arms welcoming and soft.
A crescent cove, that crease where
Your smile breaks,
A wave unfolding tranquil to shore.
As I plant a bulb or mulch a thirsty root
The long ago casual glances—
No, that’s not true, write true.
Furtive is true, with longing, a sadness, regret
All those are true, never casual, never ordinary.
Always I search for it
In the topography of your face
To go back or reach forward
See you smile into crescent moonlight cove
Linger there for the softest kiss
Hear the sibilant calm wave
Temper the dissonance of time
Its unfolding into sand and silk, and your breath is close.
This if plausible, this wish if granted,
What enchanted flowers grow here.