Give me a knife, I’ll give you an apple.
Ours is a beautiful crisis, the being
and not being, our presence
in this moment while we dream
Pollywogs in the pond, our toes
in the cold water and the sky pretending
summer soon to come. She lies to me
every day and still, still
I believe. The little things
The whisper of you walking
from one room to the other,
the dog lying down, the purposeful
clink of the dishes into the sink
after dinner. Let me spend
All my days as this pearl.