It’s easy to believe
we might never die
on a spring day like this
leaves unfolding under blossoms
early bees lost in a strong breeze
the palest blue sky offering never-
ending life and promises I cannot hear
because I’m on the front porch
watching traffic go by
waiting for you.
Your shoes inside
the front door, where you always leave
them, conspire against me
blocking the way
tripping me up
reminding me every time I step inside
that another day has passed
without you.
You’ll enjoy the garden again
when you return
the spinach
growing inexplicably
in the middle of this city
like hope
the beanstalks curled
like the tender necks
of violins all in a row,
the peas stretching towards
their supports, and beyond that the pale
blue sky, never-ending. Those peas,
tiny shoots, so ambitious, yet
needing something else
on which to lean.
That’s me,
you know,
reaching for you.
Beautiful. A gift on a Monday morning. Thank you.
Holey moley, Shawn. This is wonderful. Thanks so much.