This evening, by the table lamp’s light Bulbs of tulips opened their petals, Each a palm holding a mysterious heart.

And that took me back to the our talk, Those ways to pry open what is unseen, As we treaded over different but similar ground.

Even if the past is done, it resonates In how today sounds. We both know how the wood is permanently marked by those driven nails.

Those holes that stay unfilled after we pull them out or as they fall out rusted. Maybe this is essential, because how else will we know

The thickness of our human souls, if we don’t let Broken loves, evanescent springs or incidental conversations Penetrate us. This is the only knowing, the only becoming

And the only blossoming in the gathered years light!

• for Aselia,a fellow cube dweller