I was the bow to her arrow,
as the trees danced around us
Leaves, wild and flushed in pink,
scattered like stars across
the symphony of our night
I was the zebra of the horse,
the clay soaked by rain,
the pulse of creation’s first breath
They bloomed endlessly,
over and over,
in shades of green, pink, and red
I was the Easter of her spirit,
the fruit born from death