At the Botanic Gardens with Vivian Rose

All morning we were led
by the scent of peonies,
lilacs, roses, and some white
flower on a tall maroon stem
for which we never found a name.
Grass paths. Wood chip paths.
Paths with small gray stones.
And a moongate with no door—
only an opening on both sides.
You on one side, me on the other
and both of us in the middle
of something so beautiful—
walking with no purpose,
the way that rain falls,
the way that petals fall
and scatter. I want to tell you
it will last forever. Instead,
I hold your hand and say
nothing except your name.


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