The hanging basket,
plumply pendant,
becomes a lantern
incandescent,
twinkling August’s
low-flung light
into votives
pink and white.
Summer’s aging
into fall;
twilight’s angle
cuts like awl
through maple leaf
and acorn’d ceiling
while insects call
their raspy reeling.
The impatiens on the screened porch
are spluttering, soaked and indignant,
protesting the face full of rain
blasted by winds unbenignant.
You’d think all the thundering torrents
would make this rank air feel better
but the impatiens will attest to the fact
it just gets wetter and wetter.
Secret life
unknown
until
laughing
it lets us see,
just so
is February earth
in secret shiftings
the bud
of what will be.
More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
I acted on gardeners’ faith
when I sowed my babies in spring
autumn light reveals
(huzzah!)
I knew what I was doing.
I confess lobelia blue
died out
(alas, alack!)
but overall I’m happy
to pat myself on the back.
Between a rock and a hard place
impatiens instinctively wander
seeking cloistered shadow
immured from bray and maunder.
