I am changing the garden,
rearranging, potting up
grasses and succulents,
and spindly geraniums
that smell of citrus.
The trees are pruned, and soon
the lavender.
The planters wait for flowers, to be planted
among onions, chickweed, and
struggling alyssum.
The terrace smells of laundry and salt.
My mind reaches into the soil,
pulls out hurt,
worry, white paper -
so few words.
