Even as we held each other in my skinny kitchen
where spring raged outside the windows
you had already begun to construct your fence.
Even as one hand caressed, you were weighing
the first stone in the other, settling it firm
in the sliver of space between us.
How could I have seen it, with the world outside
all purpled and waving with blossom?
— from Juniper Volume 7, Issue 1