Lavender mountains hid well these small celadon steps

where the sky had forsaken its blue without a regret

for the palest greens of spring so rare to disappoint

that patterned themselves to reach the highest of points

"Paradise," you said, and I believed it all to be true

since grasses grew long and straight where we knew

pointing as they did to some distant faint suns

that burned on our backs- evergreen-though we run

"Lie with me," you whispered to the pines you could see

but they had clouds to reach and so told you to flee

there are bushes still close to wrap themselves around

chartreuse and full of myths with no way to be found

The birds saw their reflections in the mirror of the river

a mint sort of green that only years of algae delivers

but still they flew, reckless and free into the high trees

branches waving as they left with the help of the breeze

"Paradise," I said, and you believed it was all true

since a paintbox had been dropped on all that you knew

painted with a brush so thick it went on for miles

for two just like us who still collected earth’s smiles.