the lover..

we gather storms
and green thumbs to memory
color and muted sounds
of cascade

we linger between youth
and an autumn afternoon; collect
shells and the curved remains
of silent seagulls

we all be(come)
we all gather, collect and longer linger
on loving

as any garden needs devout
tending
so to a lover
in becoming- the lover perfumed
unforgotten come
winter -

not his timing
nor his storm

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012