Sweet garden, sweet tangle of herbs
Sweet garden, sweet tangle of herbs
sweet April without rains, then coming
sweet basil, sweet scented fingertips
sweet unfolded afternoon
I would love to be sweet
Jesus who withers a tree
forsythia, lilac, mock orange, red twig,
ceanothus in the wrong region
opened fists of flowering
opened eye of unnaming
sweet taste of the compost
in the stems of violets, in chives
inside my mouth a bittering and dearth
suckled need for my losses
sweet muddled creed of the bloodroot
sweet delicate tongue, licking my fingers clean
