was fate succumb to autumn
and woke with vowels and rhyme
a bud had bloomed to poetry
from syllables and vine
from twisted braid
of weed and verse
seeds undone by rain
essence made by longing
we willed to grow again

between the slats
along the way
on paths no longer trod
meadows
where the soul was not forsaken
(loves me not)

the slightest dream
when nurtured sweet
by kindness unopposed
shall garner us a garden
lemon trees and yellow rose
crown to crown
as birth to birth
silence swarms
in emerald wave
the rarest bloom we never see
was given us to save

this place of peace
this silver gate
dragons lured by pearl and drone
shall honor still
(he loves me)
as violets slumber on