So, maybe I'm not the one
Who will ever catch the sun
With these words I write
I can only tell what's in my sight
On these afternoons I sigh
Think of Heather Garden's light
Wait for a voice on the phone
Hear a smile
Take me home
But that's not always what it's like
Feeling nuance from both sides
Meeting life at its seams
Two otters floating upstream
It's the budding of a rose
Merging two roots with hope
Whispers dampened by the snow
Weaving the ropes as we go
Centuries old Rhode Island home
Watching our love grow