by well and river,
in the holy city we wash our hands
our bones begin to crack
and skin marks time like tree rings.
at night, we dream of Eden,
our calloused hands remembering
a time when death and
decay were but myths.
i am remembering forever. i am breaking
twigs in the garden and
staring at the green inside.
i am reading poetry by the fireside;
i am speaking your name
into the palms of my lover.
in the glass-light of morning
i hear you crying in the orchard;
the apples have fallen from the trees
and made their beds in the ground.
Words by Isobel Gammon
Show Comments (774)