It is too soon
to prune but wilted petals
wave provocatively from
bowing gardens and here
among bent stems the sun is pleasing to my back and shoulders.
Pulpy worms are sweet to scavenging tongues of hungry birds
plucked without warning from spidery veins of leaves.
Elongated roots relentlessly war with nicked and bleeding fingers
tugging at reluctant stems. I know it it is too early but chaotic gardens
long for control once again.