Gardens

I told her I'd write her soon.  It never happened.  Her valentine never reached the post; it's still in my room.  Maybe I'll send it soon. 

If I understood the rhythms of life I would change the world.  I would send you those flowers wilting on my desk, taking up all the sunlight and clinging to hope in what seems a hope-ridden place.  I would masquerade like the wind and push the tide to your shores.  And I'd give you all the notes cluttering my bedroom floor.  Because I'd be in tune with the world around me.

I told her I'd call today.  The phone's idle in the kitchen.  The tea's steeping.  And all the clouds covered the sky.  

"Life is not complicated," mother used to tell me.

I don't know why I never listened to that.  Maybe I will send those flowers today.  But they're falling apart.  Maybe that could be artistic.  Well, by the time they reach you, it will have been a week.  I don't think they'll survive without water for that long.  

Henry Alden once wrote, "In loving one another we find God."  Now I know why mother told me life isn't complicated.  And those flowers on my desk, I'll plant you a garden for when you come over; it all works out.