Grown only one place on earth,
     the sweet vadalia is now peeled through eleven layers.
Soul-washing tears from opening the life-scarred onion
     fall on this particular place where our souls mingle:
     This garden where our children come and go, play and grow;
     This garden where the giving tree grows,
          watered by outpouring love;
     This garden where we stand unashamed without fig leaves.

Our life together, named by
     digging,
          uprooting,
               peeling,
                    and crying
     to lay bare subterranean truths.

Early blooming daisies perennially attest
     to the rightness of our union.
You are the sun-mirroring center
     I surround with outreaching petals
     free from he-loves-me-not's.
The twelth dawn has come, my love,
     may I have this sundance?