im sorry

the garden of sorrow grows miracles

i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i am sorry. am i sorry? are you? 
in the garden of sorrow grows miracles. delicate things. 
resilient things. 

i planted my apology. and prayed before the mound of disturbed earth. 
i watered it with tears and sang it to sleep, myself too. 
and in my dreams there we were. 
unarmed hearts in a glass house.

i read to the sunflowers, 
their heads bowing nearer to listen close. 
you lay still, eyes closed in surrender
washed clean by the warm rays 
of long neglected truths.

in this impossible place 
you even strain your ears
yearning and eager to hear the melody
of my undiluted heart.

touch could never roam me
as passionately as your eyes
when they open at last to see
my glory and my devastation 

my broken heart, 
patched in grief
and one too many 
i'm sorrys 

-June

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