Trying to make a garden
out of bird branches, nettles, dry grasses,
a wooden shed with slatted sides,
falling down and into itself.
Trying to alive a garden
out of weeds and light through leaves,
to grow a garden, to mound a garden
out of sycamore keys and thistle-prickle.
Trying to Christmas a garden, to Easter a garden
to flap a wing of a garden through
the stiff soldier arms of the trees,
to tangle a garden out of roots and worms,
to fox and owl a garden,
to slither a garden out of shadow,
to meow it, to cats-eye it out of night,
to hold a garden in a palm of light.
Trying to uncover a garden.
to mountain a garden out of goose grass, meadow-shine,
to weave a garden from stalk and stem,
from crows’ wings and cloudlight.
From Bird Sisters (Nine Arches Press, 2016)