Since some will ask about this

place called us, it looked out

on a field of sunflowers beneath green

mountains that vanished in mist.

We were convinced happiness lived

there, or somewhere like it. And weren’t we

happy there? In the gleaming kitchen

that final morning, two flawless sunflowers,

a postcard propped against the vase.

No message, or hint, just a P.S:

Retrieve. And don’t forget Love,

What saved us still saves us.

Now I know that too should

have ended with a question.