in which I could say this. One might be the way
I adjust the blinds of the kitchen window, below which
sits the supple veins of aloe we potted yesterday.
Or, it’s the way the lithe pothos vines might cascade
along the white trellis we’ve talked about
building for weeks now. It might be the red cactus
flower, blooming like a finned, downy mouth
on the cocked rail of the balcony. This life is all
I can think about these days. This soil and water.
Every slight wing of rain. It’s true, we have no money.
But look — watch the tillandsia today, the flickering
breeze through their tender stalks, peering over
the mouths of mason jars in blue daylight. Imagine
a world in which this could go on forever. Sowing and
reaping in green and blue infinity, letting the earth seep
into the golden oil of your palm. Imagine a world
in which I love you like this multitude of water
flowing over the dappled pebbles that cull it,
which is happening, here, in this house today.
[featured photo: Megan Hansen/flickr]