Walking down memorial
the smell of hot & wet soil
packed into plastic
making walls along the sidewalk
the gardener and the garden
both remind me
how the seasons begin to turn
like pages in a book
that was left
without needing to know
the ending

and yes
how sweet is that scent

Remember when my necklace
Got so tangled in my
Hair that you had to
Cut the chain free?

Something about
The cool scissors
And your hand
Bracing my neck
Felt sweet

& now
The lock you cut
Won’t stay in place
I struggle with it
Most days

Then again
Sometimes you’ll find yourself
Lost like keys in the sofa
It’s so easy to forget
That you’ve been
There before

When I think of you
I think of
Bergamot
And flowers
And the artists that
So carefully grow them
To be pressed into
Pages
Protected beneath
Gentle words
And the clouds
That linger
Soft on
cold Sunday mornings

and
when I think of you
I soften too

Everything I made today broke
And I keep telling myself that
It’s ok
And to
Love the impermanence
And imperfection of
Creation

The disappointment of it all

And I just
Feel
Go-to-bed-at
8 pm
Sad about it
Ya know

And you said
It’s been a dream
While I’ve been awake
Counting stars on your ceiling
Memorizing each snore into
My neck
Full from food and
Peaceful cinema
You say it’s been a dream
And I’ve always been bad
At telling
The two apart

I deserve good things
Like kettle corn
And the promise that
Seeds I spit will grow
Laying shoulder blade
To shoulder blade
sometimes
Summers on top of
Your comforter
And comfort
In knowing
The heavy softness
Of knowing
You