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 searched for it
In the topography of your face
To go back or reach forward
See you smile into crescent-moonlight cove
Linger for the softest kiss
Its unfolding into sand and silk and your breath
So close.
To hear the sibilant calm wave
Temper the dissonance of time
If this plausible, this wish if granted,
What enchanted flowers grow here.
