Garden

Arch your crane like neck

there by the fire escape

while delicate night shimmers around a rooftop garden in November

the soft smell of garlic in the air

high above these wanting black buildings

where you learned to walk again

peeking down at the movement

these moments so slight

from up on high, away from all the soulless car crash

and sarcastic footfall

tired patterns of compliance

wind whipped hair

kissing the frosted iron bars with your face pressed between them

a perfect frozen flower

as an observer

as a single snowflake descends

for something you loved so intensely

then discarded so suddenly