a parable, or
a long long long lane, or
a cramped car ride
with skeleton branches
whipping past the windows, or
an icicle gaze across the table,
a stretching formica gulf
We vowed we would be
tendrils,
sprouting raw winter wheat.
Something leafy,
something summery.
A lime, mossy, cicada song
a cultivated garden
a half and a half
hovering,
in the unrealistic concave
of each other's heart
we vowed
all this
