In This Garden, May 28, 2017

In this garden there are no rankling voices

With answers and choices that are neither.

Sunday with a woodpecker and a fat jay, all

Singing for our stake, in the shade of hazelnut

Bushes, now trees you can’t control no matter

How much you need deep down to grab hold

And steer them, hydra-headed they come back

Like offspring of war. Today I let it grow as will,

With squirrels bellyflopping from branches

To help undo the best intentions gone sour,

This moment when the lizard madly dashes

Between nettles both sides of the path,

Their leaves wide open for a handful of sun.
I already hate what I'm about to jot down.