DO YOU WISH?
(the Gardener's Lament)
Do you wish to force the clover past the brick?
Place the newly painted planter by the portmanteau
or portecochere - whatever those sounds like
fussy words declare? Do you wish your hat, even
your gown, your very clothes, now to be withheld
within my gardener's hands (for I would strip you
like a stem)? And, oh yes, I can grow things, I can
press you 'til your heart upends. I can love you
easy or love you hard; your choice to sing, my
oh-so-lovely thing. Let us mark these notes,
instead, to muse on - how the singular light
of daytime marks your lonesome face; how the
small bird, singing, watches wary, and - lastly -
how this regal breeze the fir tree brushes. Now,
do you wish to force the clover past the brick?
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