Thursday, June 26, 2014


Gardens are as various as soups or stews.  Can be wild.  Can be as manicured as an elegant bisque.  Gardens offer seasonal beauty.  So does food.   Poetry is not estranged from the wild, from the eloquent, nor the ripe.  Gardens are also of the imaginary-ilk.

1 comment:

  1. A hollow wind lifts the orange from the trees
    And I will watch all day for her to walk by with her daughter