I think I’ve been waiting for you all my life.
To glimpse you through the kitchen window
scratching between iris and daffodil,
disrupting roots, sprawling moll-like
...
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the garden was never more alive.
You offer a remote conviviality
that I don’t presume upon
as I would, say, a dog or cat,
my heart beats when I read this simple poem from poet heart to pen
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the garden was never more alive. You offer a remote conviviality that I don’t presume upon as I would, say, a dog or cat, my heart beats when I read this simple poem from poet heart to pen