in which I learn to heel the roses in

I become a night gardener

The nippy freshness welcomes me

While a palpable pause listens

To my unexpected footsteps.

I hesitate upon hearing the garden

Resting, taking stock in the silence

 

For this time I am the prowler,

The one rustling and scurrying

Preparing sawdust and soil

To heel the roses in.

Towards midnight, under a shelter

Of serrated night-cloud and stars

 

Rose roots keen for their freedom

And  I am grounded in rose-thoughts

Once more: their song is the ballad of the earth

More lovely than daffodils yet so prickly.

I, diligent learner, work in the dark

Ready for rampant ramblings.

 

Copyrighted by the author

 

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