The last love poem I will ever write . . .

Will contain an invention for turning ants’ tears

Into hummingbird wings. It will hold every

Elegy the night sky ever wrote for the moon.

It will reveal the answer to the question “Yes.”

It will feature a rosebush that grew naturally

Into the shape of a woman, a man, and a dog.

It will contain all our sorrow and some of our joy.

It will exhibit glass slippers worn by the last queen of mice

And also the invisible cathedral built on the spot where we met.

It will display a tree whose leaves change color

With the weather, turning bright blue at forty degrees.

It will contain a replica of the ice ship that sails

Through dreams, searching for survivors.

It will contain all our joy and most of our sorrow.