When the young girl was ill and in the hospital

we counted every stone in the garden

and every step down the street

and patience didn’t help us

and impatience didn’t help us either.

One day it rained and one day the sun shone.

I walked by her empty house under the rain and the sun

and my heart was like her house

and my head was like her house

and my hands were empty too.

At night we had either clouds or stars.

We turned toward each other and we turned away

and we didn’t cry and we didn’t think

and we counted the leaves that fell in silence

and the many buds that grew silently to meet them.