This rose, like you
slow to unfold
like me, prickly,
climbs the fence in the moments we can't see
its growth invisible in its steady persistence
and evident only
upon reflection.
We look back
to see where we have been
and, by inference,
how far we have come.
Scanning that territory, I see
the garish, glaring billboards
of holidays and calendars
photographs of ChristNewYearmasHalloEasterweenThanks
giving
Yet what I remember
is only the unseen beat
of time itself, passing
and you beside me
and we, like those thorny blooming arms,
winding upward,
leaf by leaf unfurling
our feet plunged deep in loamy earth
our children darting bees, whirring
between the buds
our trunks entwined in glossy growth
and faces, like blossoms,
turned to the sun
who promised always to return.
So our love
rises each day anew
to stretch, and drink the dew, and grow again
a little more skyward.
