The Garden's Perspective:

I've grown used to the change of seasons---
the drowning and rebirth-

dehydrating and rebirth.

You change my clothes so tenderly,
cut my hair,
feed me breakfast.
I wake up to you every morning
and you come home to me each evening.
I have alone time in the afternoon.

I've memorized the feeling of your fingers.
You've learned to speak my language of wilting-

of giving and receiving.

Sometimes I wish you'd take a rest.
I can taste the delight in your face
if you'd only let another tend to it

or, tend to me.

2 poems

i feel cold
standing here
barefoot on your kitchen floor.

it's 45 degrees and raining out there,
wind chill of -90 maybe,
must be at most 35 in here.

i want to talk about the relativity of time
and how to instill it in our expectations.

i tell you
i don't want to keep up with the cell phones,
i'm only human.

i say
we have a full moon on our hands-
safer to stay inside and watch through the window.

screw off with what you know-
i'm interested in how you interact with mystery,
if you acknowledge mystery in your life,
do you?

you look warm
sitting there
slippers at the kitchen table.

.............

nostalgia seeps through my star anise breath,
did you feel it when i whispered into your mouth yesterday?
Truth hangs out in my lavender armpits,
did She sweeten your shirt in a hug?
sandalwood's self-actualizing-
here i am,
what do you think?

every scent has its origin.
my variety could purvey a history
and i'm determined to detect yours.
i could ask questions
but i prefer a comfortable silence-
you lying there while i browse your bathroom cupboard,
take a shower with your supplies,
taste your hair.

let's go nose to neck and stay like that for awhile.
we must be getting closer to something.