stay for a while

this was a worthy interruption of the nothing i was doing

our house will be such quiet laughter, the mat mud-streaked as we come and go from the garden. when the sun hits the kitchen windows, the light is tinged green from herbs on the sill. summer nights, all windows open. the smell of jasmine in the widening blue, the blossoms glowing like beacons, errant little stars. we drive to the woods, the beach, we drink warm wine and bathe in the river. we learn to cook each other’s dishes, like our mothers used to make them (we get it disastrously wrong; we get it almost right). at night, the radio plays softly, like a murmured secret. even on the bad days, we try to love each other, oh so softly.