and, some years, the rain fell freely
into the open mouths of flowers,
love in abundance, possibility
rinsing over the scene in watercolors,
and every deep breath felt like
it was making room for something
more, and everywhere we reached
there were petals, our wild eyes
dilated, oh, this, we knew, love
still there were
years on the concrete, empty
slab, save for the stains of
memories wrapped in thorns,
which taught us the soft incantation,
I have enough, and our friends grinned,
old souls seeing magic firsthand, I have
enough, and the sting of old scars,
gone, I have enough, and then
came the rinse, exhaling color over
all the everything, gratitude
drowning out the deficits, love
letter to those years, too
michael king 