The flowers grow. Your garden is there. I beg you to grow like I always have. This time it's a little bit different. A halo of black around your face, I think I'm losing consciousness. I remind you my body can't do it anymore. I'm crying, I think we're done. You hand me the plastic bottle, to water me before the flowers. You step outside, you tell me the night is cool. The wind whispers, the petals dance. There's a watermelon, you tell me. It's growing.
Your garden is there. And the flowers, under the moon, they grow.