Something leaned forward and touched my arm.
A puff of wind from the window draft?
A spirit warning perhaps?
There was an exhale, an inhale, a shimmering face rising from deep water and you were there, floating
in orchids and thorns; a warning perhaps.
I cannot recall the moment we first stood in the nest of our flower, what minute what hour what day it was that we shared our first bloom just as I cannot remember the womb or my birth when I first greeted the earth, my first kiss with a girl, my first or last day at school, what was left of me in your eyes as we bid our goodbyes and I swept our dirt under the carpet and fiercely cried the way that grown men seldom cry.
And now here we are, ages have passed, cracks have nested by my eyes. You are beneath my feet, again, your face is shimmering in orchids and thorns.
As I lift the carpet to touch our love once more, I see the broom in the kitchen
leaning on the pantry door.