It’s not our fault, the night
Racing in to become the pace car to our heart rate
That it might conquer
Why weave these words, darkness, ’round our ankles?
Utterances we used to need to hear, that would have us walking tall?
I can’t say your name, but your number, I know
‘Til my last breath, I call you the liar you be
Your wishing to blackmail
Your attempt to bruise
Reality we now enjoy
Ask us to wrestle, and wrestle we will
For you have lost us
To flowers and fauna
Forever to smiles from friends
And over again
The wind blew him in, the one I noticed
Late fall or early — does it matter, for he was the perfect shades of blue and blush
Minding his own damn business, but for feasting in my wildflower garden
I had seed to spare and time
There was not a thing more important than to study an old-new friend that day
Eastern not Western, and I knew him some lifetime before
I’ve been taught to grow
My bright green, giv’n blessing to
You’ll want my number
…and as the smoke rolls away
And a new fog-like mist emerges
And I leave all who is Home to me
Tell me there’ll be sun today….
Said the bad Iris
Stay away, smart-mouthed Tulips
Come, sweet Impatiens
Last season’s daisies
Make way for coming clover
The candy-striped petunias I planted and you dug out
The steely-cold shovel you used and I’ll repurpose
The ever-present ghost garden we two cultivated
Once the hydrangeas have decided, there is no turning back. They bloom just for you. Intentionally. Enough sweltering days strung one-after-another makes them crazy enough to believe.
And delusional. They let you walk ever-so-near. They don’t see you’ve a gardener’s shears behind your back. And your intention…to display them on your basement table.