I keep the yard,
barbed fence surrounds a black patch –
dirt, carefully prepared.

I hold my hand on the trowel
watch over the churned earth
and keep,
then a green shoot.

Stars and circles of blue-gold flesh,
colors scintillating on the petal, cerulean and gunmetal.
In the pistil a light sprays,
burns furious for a time,
fades, gutters out to die.
I keep the yard.

When you’re here,
could you stay?

Could your roots close
and cling to what recalls you?