We Could Be

If you were a gender, you’d be the wind & the ripples in the water, memories attached to photographs, & rose gardens in high summer. And perhaps, I’d be the empty space between a paintbrush and its canvas, blank as an unnamed tombstone. The way anticipation hangs on the edge of that moment right before the first stroke lays down its rightful claim the finality of a beginning the shifting of the seasons. And if we were Greek Titans (and we are) we’d be two tellers of time. You