The Budding of a Rose

So, maybe I'm not the one Who will ever catch the sun With these words I write I can only tell what's in my sight On these afternoons I sigh Think of Heather Garden's light Wait for a voice on the phone Hear a smile Take me home But that's not always what it's like Feeling nuance from both sides Meeting life at its seams Two otters floating upstream It's the budding of a rose Merging two roots with hope Whispers dampened by the snow Weaving the ropes as we go Centuries old Rhode Island home Watching our love grow