wisteria

Do you know that sometimes things just work out?

We hold each other in mutual unknowingness

temporarily stitching together sadnesses in the afternoon sun.

The details are unimportant, cumbersome, besides the point.

What matters is the mutual acknowledgement of frustration,

If we do not talk about it we will burst, she confesses.

Holding space need not entail perfect comprehension

to go beyond an understanding as light as it is deep.

We reach a wisteria grove 

purple and unexpected

fragrant and pungent 

and she places a fallen sprig

on my knee

                    before departing.

I sketch it hungrily, wishing for color,

an arc of green and flashes of purple.

as I sketch I realize, what I thought was 

the end was the beginning.