A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

Just you, the market, and the crunch of autumn leaves
beneath boots made with love. I never knew
this was what I sought — the simple joys
of burning our tongues on roasted chestnuts
to the tune of your gentle laughter, ‘neath the sunshine
of your smile and kind eyes. None of the songs told me
this is where I’d find peace — the mundane
would become glimmers. Did you know
it’s possible to fall in love with the way someone cuts potato?

For Maelen, from Dot