Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

In the Garden

Fishing for a poem among flowers,
I cast in Renoir’s fashion, as in
Dans le Jardin, but not quite.
Shadowing the passion of that man
for the young girl in a yellow hat,
the thorn-tipped bushes tighten
along my edges, and I blend
into the losing end between herbs
and rhododendrons, without absinthe
or any other similar bait. Still,
following the colors of petals,
I spin from mood to mood and
wait for darkness to wrap around
the tree trunks, so I may face myself
with the tribute of a sigh.