I went to sleep in the glare of all words.
Woke, what bolder thought than dawn's presumption,
Rain streaming off the eaves of the fading
Red gate? There used to be a hen house here,
But there is a fox for every hen house,
And now the coop is a garden of rocks,
Also dripping. A today, any day,
Was a way to leave another world, but
The opposite of escape. On a rock
Of adamant, each word world goes to die.
If I had named all of the succulents,
Trees, flowers, vines, and cacti precisely
That fringe my garden of rocks, I would have
Made a lovely, botanical bouquet
Suggesting nothing about the flowers
To anyone who didn't know those names.
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