Sunday, June 29, 2014

It’s not the woods

It’s not the woods, then;
it’s a lawn, planted like
a carpet, a boundary fenced,
designed to mark and define,
not to keep it. It’s a garden,
bordered in flowers, dead leaves,
earthworms, bees clinging
to the Monarda. No wildness
like then, no place to pretend,
It is what I know now.
It is what I fit, now.

Photograph: Shaw’s Arboretum, Gray Summit, Missouri.


SimplyDarlene said...

i like the stark

Anonymous said...

i wrote a poem from this
but, i'm saving it for my little book.