this is usually not open

at this hour, 

first thought. 

nobody is here,

second thought.

i could sit endlessly,

the humming fans

condensation tracing paths

on the late summer 

windows, 

leaves & tendrils 

swaying with the thick air.

dark.

it smells of life.

my eyes are knit shut. 

the blooms still shine 

in moonlit patches,

yellows & i think pinks,

waning once more 

before winter sets them still.

until next year, 

until next time.

it’s a night of love.

for me, i’m not so 

sure. i want to 

call but my heart tightens

at the thought. 

you are comfortable, 

kind, sweet,

& wholly not mine. 

i’ll always be one 

with the gardens

.

(9/13/25)