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.