Near and Far

Every day she walked in and out of that green garden gate
from the world inside and its little rooms. The world outside,
the sky's ceiling, criss-crossed with stars and constellates, 

held out a promise of myriad destinations. Not late
at all, not yet. To bloom has no fixed season, no guide. 
Every day she walked in and out of that green garden gate.

With time, distances gradually increased. The hand of fate
waved, conjuring one mirage after another. She was its bride.  
The sky was dark, the star-crossed ceiling its vast estate. 

Things had not happened yet. Pages unwritten said Just wait.        
But she learned— she too could choose a move, even a joyride.
Every day she walked in and out of that green garden gate,

straightening her spine and collar. How many steps to checkmate?
Water doesn't disappear, only shifts with riptides, moon-tides. 
The sky's broad ceiling, criss-crossed with stars— calculate

how long it took them to find their place, the space
for measuring the length and depth of their existence.
Every day she walked in and out of that green garden gate.
The sky's vast ceiling ticked with stars and constellates.