The Greenhouse Vows

[Verse 1]
The Calathea medallion on the sill
Tuesday, third of June, the year the rain forgot to stand still
I kept your list taped to the kitchen wall
Distilled the water, feared the fall
of every single perfect, painted leaf.

[Pre-Chorus]
I'd turn it ninety degrees for the crepuscular light
Mist the air, make a cathedral of the night

[Chorus]
And that was my religion then
Watering the roots of you, amen.
My hands in dirt, a kind of prayer
To keep a fragile thing alive in humid air.

[Verse 2]
Your coat still smelled of cedar and the MAX train
“Don’t let the edges brown,” you said, “it means you’re not trying.”
I bought a special lamp, a tiny fan
Became a botanist with a desperate plan
Just trying to prove your diagnosis wrong.

[Pre-Chorus]
I'd turn it ninety degrees for the crepuscular light
Mist the air, make a cathedral of the night

[Chorus]
And that was my religion then
Watering the roots of you, amen.
My hands in dirt, a kind of prayer
To keep a fragile thing alive in humid air.

[Bridge]
I re-bound the spine on your old book of poems
Learned to propagate the things that make a home.
And that plant is six feet tall now, by the way
The leaves are velvet, not a touch of grey.

[Outro]
It outgrew the pot, it outgrew you, amen.
My hands in dirt, just for myself again.