in the years dividing our seasons
i began selecting
what i was allowed to feel
planting them in my life again
sifting through
what we tore up from fertile ground
with our frail hands
who could think such damage possible
which was the truth?
were we weeds or wild flowers?
sowing only seeds
pretending what i was planting
was purely me
left me tending only empty ground
by denying your existance
in every detail of what had survived
in that plundered garden
behind our eyes
so many gates to bolt
too many places where
the wind would sigh through
stirring up the secrets
i was remembering this today
all the small and intricate ways
you never left my side
the roots that held you there
were of a lily among many thorns