We Must Become the Gardeners

Someone—
you,
me,
someone,

forgot to water the silence.
now it withers between us,
sick from the things we said,
brittle with the things we should have said

in place of green thumbs
I bring apologies,
you bring your hands.
kneeling in the wreck of what we shared,
we begin again
pruning what hurts,
naming the flowers after the time we lost

in chasing another bloom

we wait

for the sun.