The next poem is called "The Garden."
It is the entirety of that chapbook: five poems,
each with its own title.
"The Fear of Birth."
One sound, then the hiss and whir of houses,
gliding into their places, and the wind
leafs through the bodies of animals.
But my body that could not content itself with health.
Why should it be sprung back into the chord of sunlight?
It will be the same again, this fear, this inwardness,
until I am forced into a field without immunity, even
to the least shrub that walks stiffly out of the dirt,
trailing the twisted signature of its root,
even to a tulip, a red claw, and then the losses, one
after another, all supportable.