Maybe this will be our life:
I’ll tend the flowers, learn the banjo,
bake the bread. We’ll dance for hours,

you’ll learn Italian, take up

sailing. We’ll make babies with chubby
cheeks and teach them

all the names of things, and how to bow

their heads in wonder when a hatchling
learns its wings. They’ll always sleep

sound, they’ll never cry, grow up to love

their fellow man while you and I age
like wise old trees, all laugh lines and kind

eyes, hearts so full they’ll glow

through our papery skin like sky
lanterns, and we’ll look across

the years at each other,

exchanging simple gratitudes
that melt into forever.