by Larry Singleton

It’s never been any big whoop
To sow
the wild seeds
Not since time
Began

After the seedlings
Unwind their string heads
Reaching
Toward the sun like worshipers
Timely water and weeding
Shoving away rodents and voracious bugs

Perennials, return
After winter hibernation

Tropical gardens resplendent with colors
Birds of paradise, ginger of various hues
Plants whose leaves look like flowers
Warmth and humidity in this section

Bunch grasses, sage,
Hardy natives
Reside in this section,
Little moisture needed
Aromatic and wild
Beacons to pheasants
Sage hens and meadowlarks

A special
A young sequoia touches a redwood
As the grow they join
These could stand together for a thousand years
Weather and humanity permitting.

The garden doesn’t exist in reality
Only in our fermented imaginations
Only when we are calm
And can dream outwardly
They say it once existed on earth-
Who knows, gardens don’t leave fossils

All the while
Knowing the garden
To be ourselves
And our affection
And our mutual love
Nutrients and responsibility
To keep the growth