…in the canvas of night

Out in the cold, we were sparks in the dark
vulnerable and drifting, leaving no mark
but gathered together within the same home
we burned with a brilliance we never had known
you struck your own chord and I struck mine
two separate notes on the same delicate line
but listen close now, to the air as it rings
one perfect chord, from two different strings
two separate seeds, fell into two different soils
weathering harsh winters of frost and of toil
you grew as a cedar, unyielding and high
while I was a willow, that wept to the sky
we kept our own distance, we held our own space
each fighting the elements, locked into our place
but under the surface, where eyes could not see
my roots started reaching, for your lonely tree
they tangled and twisted, they married in clay
until the dark underground, grew as bright as the day
no longer just standing, alone in the clearing
we felt a new strength, in the closeness appearing
storms still howl loud, through the canopy crest
and winter still brings, the most bitter of rest
we weathered the seasons as one solid grove
unshaken by wild winds, circling fiercely above
two different trunks, with a single foundation
a forest of two, locked into a quiet creation
two separate streams, rushing down from the peak
carving the paths, that we both used to seek
but look where the valleys, finally meet
one quiet river, unstoppable and deep
you were a star, on the westernmost rim
and I was the point, where the ether grew dim
drawn by a gravity, that neither could fight
we formed a new unit, in the canvas of night
©Ann Bagnall