Verdant

In the mirror, I scrutinize my face,

all the while knowing it resembles yours.

The razed skin, a perfect metaphor

for the shift between despair and hopefulness.

Like flowers that spring among shrapnel,

the wild knowing outgrows the burden of staying closed.

You don’t know how easy it is to love you, she told me.

Loving you was always remedial, the counterpoint

to the dimming of color that happens

when you become the bycatch of your own story.

You were the indie motor—

the escape from an impassable road

of uncertainty. Here, in a polyphonic paradise

of man-made greenness and disordered song,

I’ve found my safe harbor.

I trace the pink scar and find a melody

that fits for now, but will change

as I do.