poems

from this morning's stint in the garden. typically i date these entries in my journal, i don't even know what day it is yet.

(untitled)

in the
crisp
early
morning
while
the mist
hung
heavy
over
corn fields
the sun
had not
peeked
beyond
the earth's
door
when butterflies
too cold
could not
take wing
and my
breath
still bid
me adieu
in the
moist
texas
morning
before
rooster crowed
and my
betrayals
were known
i watched
flowers
awaken
to live
their
last
day
in
the
sun


(untitled)

fennel
is the
Adam
of the
plant
world.
perpetually
splitting
its side
to release
new
growth



(untitled)

i don't
want
the kind
of affection
my dog
would readily
give.
it is too
dependable.
too easily
found.
at hand.
the way he
gazes
head askew
as if i were
a god.
i am no
god
and want
only what
i cannot
have
the
adoration
and
affection
of
you.