one year

walking through
other people's
gardens, at night,
that's what i think of
when i think of us, happy,
holdings hands we
found ourselves in the
same dream

walking those gardens,
the sweet april earth is stuck
tracking around
the bottom of my
heart like dog shit
and oh green flora
in the dark
oh secret barbeques spilling
out from lit and unlit houses
oh the spring sweat
of a liberated woman,
and the first april
and the sunday nights of kissing you
and the private gardens at night
still singing, still humming
in me, like so many thoughtful
busy insects
in those leaves
because love is
the dissolution of
private
property