Intricacies of fine soil abide.
Writhing worms advise and consent.
Rain stimulates an economy
of chemicals and bacteria. Ah,
Francesca, some people would rather
talk of gardening than garden; others
would rather garden than talk
of anything. You talk as you garden,
a few well chosen words presented
like a bouquet of Russian sage.
Gardens are always on the verge
of becoming something we had not
intended them, in our tending, to be:
This seems to have been your argument,
premised on soil today. My listening, Francesca,
was a kind of cultivation, too.
Copyright 2007
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem