The elephant ears are ready to listen,
unrolling more each day to bird’s insistent call.
The grapes promise they will come
once the rain is dried off in summer’s slow warmth.
Again my garden grows.
Poppies give way to day lilies and then
a profusion of blossoms less exclusive.
Busy insects mark off the seconds of their short life
in singing.
I have lasted through many resurrections
and many dyings of the seasons.
At night when the garden closes down
stars prevail on high, reminding me that light displaced
will find us out even in the quiet of our slumber.
