if we could stay silent for years,
You, the ghost of the tangled garden--
me, the shade of the nightnoose stairway.
I would dance with no floor beneath my feet,
and you would be blue catmint coming closer
by only inches over the course of entire summers.
"You have beautiful eyes," everyone tells the two of us.
"Too often sad," we tell each other,
our voices soft as dust.
I would like to see if we could love each other this way--
just don't count on me when you've gone green
and I've gone gray,
withering even as you toss the rose, red and resplendent,
at my feet.