tell me again the story of the
hyacinths,
how you wrapped them around
your fingers just so
and pressed the petals to her hair
in the silence of the garden dew.
tell me the color of the
sunlight,
how it slid off the iron statues
into her eyes just so
until you could not look away.
tell me how the grass soaked your feet
and the hem of her dress.
tell me how the bench was warm
beneath your hands.

(I want to hear the scrape
of stone under fingertips
and the rustle of velvet
through the rose beds.)

tell me again the beauty of the
willow tree,
how the boughs spun the light
into patterns of green just so
and painted it across her lips
in the shadow of the early morning.
tell me the simplicity of the
goldfish pond
how it rippled like satin in the wind
across your fingertips just so
and dripped onto her cheeks
hanging liquid diamonds.
tell me how the minutes passed
with eternal rapid stillness.
tell me how the flowers fell to earth
forgotten in a kiss.

(I want to hear the brush
of petals on wet moss.
and the silence of breath
and the beating pulse.)

tell me again the story of the
hyacinths
how you told her you loved her
in the garden.
tell me how she believed you.

tell me

how even now, I hold the petals
you pressed into my hair
(the memories, yes, the memories)
and wonder what has become of you
and what has become of her

and how she so quickly became
me.