ode to your garden


    Rain is falling on your garden


    —or rather has fell.


    I admire your plot, the pine branches


    knitting above the quickened dirt.


    Your garden is full of shades:


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    blurs of subtle star light,


    moist farmer’s boots


    and the worm’s house.


    Puncturing rich soil


    are black pots,


    hoisting up scarecrow leaves,


    spiny thistles clinging to each other


    with knobby knuckles.


    You started your garden,


    With the best of shortcomings


    without shovel or reason.


    Your garden is a plant cemetery,


    circular black tombstones


    dry and filled


    with dirt paler than the ground.