We stayed on
elegant pathways
and mirror dawns.
We woke to gardens
brimming with roses
growing no thorns
and birds that sang
all of our favorite songs.
You were an imaginary friend;
better than I deserved.
Who dreamed you up,
I was never sure,
but I thought that you were
maybe a gift from my mother,
who loved gardens
and flowers
and never would have wanted me
to be alone.
We crept along
in stolid twilight,
neither giving,
nor taking.
Leaving every trace
of a shadow.
Bent light,
tricky for the eye to see.
In the darkness,
I couldn’t see you,
but you would sometimes appear
wearing moonlight
like a silver suit
and tell me stories
of the world
beyond the garden walls
and of the worlds
beyond the stars.
My mother was right
to give you to me.
I could have never
dreamed you up
on my own.
Your eyes
too unlike mine
for me to conjure.
As I grew up,
I saw you less and less,
but I know you were there
in shadow
and in moonlight
and the smile
behind every rose.
HG – 2021
