At the end of December I
return
to a riot in my herb garden.
Blossoms gone
to seed and mint
everywhere, as if
the absence of my admiring eye
made everything go wild, unruly
wishing, growing, groping
towards recognition, which
I’m sorry to say,
will come in the form
of shears.
But for today,
for the sake of the new year
and this green brilliance –
I will sit here and look
at my forest of mint
with bees and flies and dogs
at my feet
breathing, grateful
that all of us are here.
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