We let the vines grow wild
beyond the back door;
but in time, even the front
was hard to keep free
of overgrowth. We propped
old rowboats against
the falling-down garage;
broken oars lined
the garden beds. Grass grew
impartially around the space
we once called home. Sometimes
in dreams I brush aside
a curtain of green and step
into a clearing, blinking.
In response to Via Negativa: Complementarity.