<


If I Were a Gardener

If I were a gardener I’d worship shape and color,
make paintings with petals and light. 
But I don’t know what I am doing. 
Needing to clear a 60-yr muddle,
I pull weeds without stopping, yank the tops. 
I clip the woody stems too low, too high. I am on a tear. 

Insects interest me; I let them eat the roses. Likewise the slugs.