All memories, with death,
grow dim, but yours
Fear rises up inside us, she said,
But love can go clear to the bone;
Take it as close as you can, without breaking.
Maybe it’s okay to break, I said,
After all, a bone will always yearn to heal.
Only you can answer the question,
for we’re alone in our decisions;
Can the aspen advise the crocus?
You and I are that different, she said.
Yet, their roots are intertwined, I said.