There are too many stars in the sky tonight
poured from the curve of an unfull moon
while midnight fantasies lie
shrouded in the sliver of shadow.
Mine though is a swelling tide
and some secrets are best
when they crash, salty, at your feet.
I saw you today,
standing pale and silent
against a blue noon,
watching as I gardened.
My hands busied themselves
with weeds and bulbs and dirt,
while my mind traced tender fingers
around your sad eyes and smiling lips
and no matter how I tried
I couldn't dig deep enough
to bury the ache.
I tried to leave you a moment
sheltered in the curl of the Canna
and for another,
safely swathed in Gardenia perfume
but found you,
again and again
where you've hidden for weeks -
warm against my chest like
a seed inside my shirt pocket.