After that, the Garden

Weeks you stoop in a cape that hangs

in rigid roughness galling eyes.

At your sides empty shells,

prospects tangled at your feet.

Palms pressing we face the wall

that parts to our intent, reveals

bursts of zinnias beside willows.

We pause at the bench.

The cape drops as he approaches —

our daylight.

Rising we reach for his hands,

fold into him

and he dispels

your strand of tears.