(As it appears in Silhouettes of Stardust)
I wasn't always like this. This garden once held vibrant colors, flowers that thrive in full sun and trees that withstand mighty gusts of wind but are fragile in human hands. It started out as a single brick at the center of the pathway A tripping hazard for people who rush in too quickly. They wore fresh paths through the grass and one brick became two ... four. An iron lock on a wooden door. I cut two keys, I might need it someday,
and locked the door.
Light grass turn to moss.
Roses and sunflowers faded,
replaced with diamond frost, impatiens, ferns.
Ethereal otherworldly plants that grow best
alone ... in the shade.
Imagine my surprise when I turned around and there you were,
a silver key in your upturned palm.
Dropped in carelessness or stolen from my pocket in a dance.
I wish I knew
how that lost key made its way to you.
"I think this is yours,"
you said.
"No,"
You were the reason I cut two.
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