I am no gardener, but when I do my bit to control our small garden patch, I love the way the ground pushes back. I have the feeling that the ground loves it too.
The Wild
I clear some ground,
the wild comes back.
I plant a seed
and something
wild will grow.
It’s like a game
we started long ago,
the right amount
of push and shove
to satisfy us both.
Then evening falls,
we call a truce,
a balance struck
between the wild
and art.
And just before
I get a beer
to celebrate
the end of play
and wash the earth
and clay off,
there is this moment
when we
take each other in,
see what we both
are made of.