When the dew comes down at twilight's end,
they walk in their garden together.
Lilacs hang like bunches of plump grapes
from the wizened and twisted bushes
edging garden paths. Entwined, tangled
branches breathe; violet, purple, pink
and white scents of spring intoxicate
the couple who rest on bench beneath.
Veined, age-spotted hands clasp as they hold
a conversation without saying
a single word, for there is no need.