Published in Blue Unicorn, Volume XLII, 2018


On a solute Tuesday the gardener brings his rusty metal appendages,

his chemical adjurations.


The earth congeals and curdles its rainwater, small clouds fleeing the touch

of his crude feet, all in rubber.


His clippers clash in indignation while nearby gnats and ladybirds avert their eyes

in born convictions.


Cross-stitched gloves he wears with happy insolence, barely malleable barriers from life to life

and learned predator from the hollyhock.



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