The cattails blaze in the corner.
Sunflowers shed their pale fiery dust on the dark stove lid.
Others stand guard, heads bowed over the garden.
The fierce and flaring garden you have made out
of your woes and expectations tilled into the Earth,
I circle close to your mind, crash
into it sometimes as you crash into mine.
Given this strip of Earth, given mere love,
should we not be happy?
But happiness comes and goes as it comes and goes.
The safe house is temporary.
The garden lies open to vandals.
This whole valley is one more contradiction,
and more will be asked of us.
We will ask more.