pitiful wide-eyed tulips elbow and swivel
in a twisting cross-hair scan for landscapes
that can satisfy an earthen thirst for focus.
it is the soil itself that spies on spring,
viewing a garden unrepaired that loosens slates
and drops bleached petals on untrimmed walks:
huddled tubers conspire in safe black plots.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
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Yes I can, because of your words. I can see such in my mind.I love the idea of the soil itself as the spy. Good one, you.
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