She steps in time with him,
While he steps out of time to all that there is.
Softly, silently, they dance,
With silver moonlight striking down
And black leaves falling.
They dance in a garden,
Of sorts, always of sorts.
The trees there black and bent,
Angled like broken flower stems strewn through time.

The only green there is,
Along murky waters that show no futures,
Of places that should have been
And a universe that never ends.

There is no wind, yet…
Leaves flutter,
No, they whirl!
In still air they whirl in the undercurrent of thought,
Perhaps, just perhaps,
This time of dancing doesn’t have to end.

The couple twirl,
One in time and one out.
Never quite in sync,
But always in unison.

The man steps out of time with the garden,
To a place and time where
Clear pond waters swirl with blue light
Just beneath the surface.

With her hand still in his,
But her face gone from sight,
He snags a red fruit from an unbent tree
And lets green leaves catch in his hair.

A twirl and a breath,
Held long and deep,
Brings him back into her arms
And to the garden with footsteps marked with rust
And to night skies with no starlight.

The apple’s skin breaks beneath their teeth,
And seeps into the spaces between their thoughts.
The same thoughts that summon this garden
That blooms green beneath their feet.

The movies lie,
Every single image that flashes through these eyes of mine
Promises that I’ll have more
Seconds to braid your hair,
Minutes to whisper sorry so that
The past no longer drags you down with cold steel
Biting deep.

There should be
More moments to hold your hand as
The hourglass’s red sand dribbles through your fingers
And pools around us,
Mirroring a world where
We could have walked side by side,
With sunlight streaming through your hair
And moonlight illuminating our bed where we rest
With hair the same silver.

There should have been a time where
I could have held your hand
With the strength of a chain,
Wrapping around our arms in golden threads
And binding our fates.

We should have been able to
Sit under the same tree,
While smaller others played around us.

The screens vowed
Long enough to say all
That could be said between us,
Yet, the only thing that I can give you
To wipe away tears that I can no longer reach,
Is a smile.

Pink bubbles burst
In a strawberry pop
Underneath the sharp shade of the green leaves of her oak.

Fingers twirl blade
After blade in hand,
Until her nails blend with the grass.

Alone, she watches heat,
Swirl in ocean waves across the road.
Someone might come by tomorrow.