Growing together

When I'm older I want an old garden—I want it with you; whoever you are—I want glass and old roots in dirt scattered in the ground from rundown decaying greenhouses—I want squash from long dead vegetable gardens to sprout and surprise us—more than the flowers I want to sit with you on rocking chairs during the first days of spring watching the overgrown forsythia bushes bloom sunshine—birdsong filtering into our souls while our fingertips brush against one another’s—I want to look at you and love you—I want to hear you say when you look at the earth "we have a lot of work to do, if we want to make it grow.”