The bamboo strung
by wisteria hung
along weakened eaves
to shelter
from the swelter
of the summer
sun.

The clothes lines
we'd bend when we
tried to defend
our blanket forts
from cats tangled
within the mangled
folds of our
impenetrable
hold.

Stark beneath cicada-laden
paper-bark grew jasmine
vines long teal-painted
pine where the blue
rusty ladder merged
two homes into
one.

The stories we'd dream
beneath Monsteria green
and of love potions
and naive devotion
to the heroes
in our
heads.

of magic carpets and fairy markets
of birds nests and sun-rests
of tea-light candles and light-up sandles

where our easeful rapture remains
the dog-eared chapter
of the photos we took
in the picture book
we share
in our
minds.