It is too soon
to prune but wilted petals
wave provocatively from a
bowing trellis
among the bent stems the sun is pleasing to bare shoulders.
Pulpy worms are sweet to scavenging tongues of hungry birds
plucked without warning from spidery veins of leaves
Elongated roots relentlessly war with nicked and bleeding fingers
I know it it is too early but chaotic gardens long for control
once again.
