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.