Preparing Soil

Until dusk I laboured

Turning, Watering, Forking

Alternate layers of new

Rich soil. Twenty years

Or more untouched

Except for my plantings

Which had not thrived

In such a spot. Now

I am ready. First

To move the unflowering:

Dietes, multiplying year

After year, a gardenia,

Leggy and forlorn,

Baby sycamores, ever

Prolific yet struggling

For breath. Turning,

Forking, Aerating

I clambered onto the soil

To reach the outer

Limits. I heard

The butcher, maggies

Noisy miners say


The crickets warm awakening

Joining them.

Still I worked, I could

Not rush despite

My waiting rose.

So with more to do,

The darkening hiding form,

Shape, carefully

Feeling my way, I bade


To the fertile day,

For awhile, a while…


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