Stay is the Winter

Our brunches on Sunday’s terrace
holding court with the “clever” early
bees drawn to our honey bowl, the
crab apple tree still whole then – the
lightning without device, the night’s
sun – we called it – how bright we
thought ourselves before they took

you. What great green harmony we
kept! How was I to know all that was
ours would need to be sold? And
after you, I discovered everything
ours would remain and take on the
winter as memory worked to keep
you unstolen.

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