Secret Garden

Nothing in the world, once reached out for, 

Will make it you. 

Not the food addictions that I knock down now...

One by one...

Not the mini-compulsions..

Distract..distract...

From the feeling...

I stop

Myself...

And process it 

Within...

And call Mary, my sister 

And my mom...

But I....

Don't call 

You....

Or tell you...

Because I don't want to imagine that you do 

Or don't care...

I don't want to imagine anymore...

If it is pretend.

The tears have me dazed and fogged 

As accounts are scooped up 

And made 

Each passing day.

As I toke up...

And breathe in the fog...

Of walking in-between realms. 

Miss you? 

Like a painter needs a palate. 

Like a canvas marries her colour. 

But I just breathe up 

The clouds...

And watch the time become away with what it becomes. 

Today, it is a broken car window. 

Somedays, It's a broken heart; 

A broken body. 

A death. 

A part (of you). 

Today...

It is a day off...

A day with...

And in my own Garden, I'm revived by the fragrant flowers and love and wonderous imaginings that dwell there...

But, I also...

Dream of seeing your face, 

Just behind 'scaping vines...

Coming through the porthole 

Of the secret garden we share. 

Who ever said it was just mine? 

Some 

Had been previously 

Invited.