The gardens! The gardens!
The hanging gardens you could've seen
had we met hours sooner upon the year.
When I walked inside
after climbing an arm sunk to the wrist
in this hillside where we landed first,
where I lost my memory,
and turned him into a summer house.
It got cold and I wanted to use
the fireplace
to keep a little warm, there was a lot of wood around.
The gist was brilliant. The details not.
The fireplace took. She woke up again.
I am here now. Well, we would not be talking otherwise.
Call it obvious.
I call it misfortune. The flower boxes fell
and cracked to pieces on the hill's side.
You should have seen the dandelions and clover and mint
in eye watering day lit ice cream cloud reflected light
before she shook them loose
like plates felled atop a pool of grass green grease on fire.
Clinking tea cups over cakes
watching your eyes
trace her shadow
to where it meets plate metal and mineral sinews
locked up and woven toward behemoth and
pigeons circle, laughing making nests and
plans for September,
I smile back at you.
We keep coming here.
You can see it too.
I remember how I got here.
"What do you want to do today?"
