In our garden, Grown over From years of inattention, We find what’s there And work to set it free. Here’s a holly bush, Strangling From the death grip Of a honeysuckle vine. Under the cherry tree A rock garden emerges From beneath the grasses And fallen twigs. Out back we hang The rusty metal treasures We’ve uncovered. Chains, pieces of gates and boats, Weathered garden tools And buckets. An old

Words are tough enough, and now you tell me to measure them in meter and rhyme. To dress them, position them like fruit in a bowl. Words, ink blots, charcoal smears, audibles, never good enough, always second best. Word sage? Please, tell me how to put fire words on a cold line, tell me how to save the gut words that drown in my throat, the ones that never reach