Poem I read out loud to a group of people last night at an ad hoc poetry gathering

I like the word ziggurat a lot more than I like ziggurats

We will not associate with the noun
we will love the word for its z-ness
and its sound
its utter rarity
and for the fact that I once said rarity to you on your birthday & you remembered it
and titled a photograph “rarity”
and the photograph had many trees in it, only trees on a hill, long and leaning
and the rarity was that many of them, and was you
it was january twenty-third; you were twenty-four years old
we walked for hours there was not a single ziggurat in our mouths or in the trees
the trees has been planted quite planned quite public for all to see

this is not a story about ziggurats or bridges or the publicity of gardens
this is not a story about age or of how our mothers boast of our first and current talents
there is nothing of the triangle here
nothing of the sphere
this is a story about geometry, and not at all about geometry
this is a story I wrote for you so that you would remember it

(this is a story that only the two of us know)

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