The kingdom of me

no, let's call it

the persondom of me,

an unholy place, sometimes

bordering on the holy,

but always somewhere

to call home,

a space where it is possible

to be comfortable

in aloneness.

I cannot speak for

the persondom of you

or you,

though I wish I could;

I'm sure it is as fraught

and as wonderful

as my own,

and if I could steal

in your back door,

I'm sure I would find

a garden filled with roses,

and perhaps fields of lavender

stretching as far

as the eye can see.

or would your garden lean

more towards zen

a beauty of absence

which happens only when hearts

beat in accordance with

nature's sure intent?

Perhaps the moment I enter,

I would feel the holiness

of your garden,

and want to stay,

perhaps forever.

Is that what you fear,

that I might take up residence,

ask for accommodation?

Is that why you have never

invited me in?

Of course, if you did invite me,

I would bring parts of my persondom

to share.

You could teach me how

to perceive meaning

in your structured absences,

and if you allowed,

I could place an imagined rose

beside an absent stone.

I know these thoughts might be

worrying for you,

but can you imagine

the irresistible possibilities

in this sharing,

how different languages

could anoint the air

with a harmony of syllables?

Perhaps, as Frost intoned,

fences make good neighbbours,

and perhaps they do,

perhaps they bind us

to a singularity,

an immutable history

we've long embraced,

but perhaps too

our arms are wider

than we know

and we would discover,

on the other side of any fence,

a symmetry,

and, in spite of all imagined change,

a mirror image

of what we already know.

Could we recognize,

in each other's rituals,

echoes of our own?

Could you imagine,

your persondom and mine,

and all the others

together?

Could you imagine us

as friends?

Could you imagine us all

growing old together?