It was a tender conversation,
one we’ve had & had again
plus your daughter had just hit her head
but we had made a promise to each other
one to be tied up
& one to tie her.
When it was over, we opened the door
& the rain had fostered the ballet-colored petals to fall from the tree
dotting the grass below.
“Look” you said,
& you gestured toward
the humble domestic meadow,
“it looks like a wedding.”
Photograph by Autumn de Wilde, poem by Lorca.