Garden Lessons: A Poem

I came to the garden to listen

to the wisdom of the plants:

their silence deeply rooted,

well-nourished in patience and sun. 

I came to feel the margins

to sit in the empty spaces

to learn to wait, content,

and hopeful for tomorrow. 

But I never leave empty-handed,

my teacher giving last lectures

in basil blossoms (soft white, hungry petals)

and last minute advice in tomato stem scent. 

To learn the lessons of the garden

I must come daily on quiet feet

with a spirit full or empty, it doesn't matter,

but supple and always leaning in. 

Moonflower (Ipomoea alba): A Poem

White moonflower, silver, spectral

garden ghost, tendrils curling

intertwining wooden post:

I hear you calling, lilting lulling. 

Une cloche blanche, keeping time

my time in moon phase and stargaze

and lightning bugs' pulsing rays, 

and your time whispered, aglow. 

Like untwisting pearlescent sheets of lightest silk,

with dewy, heavy floral scent 

on green twirling stems, I abide by your bell.

I come and listen to midnight stories only you can tell.