there was a fraying
like the veins of a tomato plant
never offered a skeleton of support
falling over
into the dirt
ready to be wrapped
in a death shroud

seeds never to meet their resurrection
pulled and tossed into the garbage instead
during the shadows of night
no moon
ending swoon

but one
single
persistent
seed
floating on the breath of God
cloaked in those same violet shadows
snuggles up in the muck
is never shucked
but buries herself in for the fall
for the winter
for the spring
a garden quilt to tuck her in

waking, shaking off that quilt
as the garden begins April baking
stretching toward something new
and a gardener
with a frame all ready,
oh, this volunteer tomato seed of resilience
beginning

there will be fraying again
but this time
instead of collapse
support;
the natural course of things
for beauty and tomato thrive
when the gardener knows a thing or two about
endings
survived