Thinking of Eight

These tender summer mornings

over all these flower beds

awaken wistfulness, turn me

sharply nostalgic for hosta houses–

the twig people’s sticky petunia hats,

their stands of spent geranium bloom,

their tricky violet-leaf tunics cinched

with xylem and phloem belts.


I miss when the world

could be put together under a leaf

with infinite room for intricacy.

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