by well and river,

in the holy city we wash our hands

unclean.

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

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