gentle on what has just been transplanted
a day
a night
a summer
trying to get back to eden
yanking the insidious vine quickly in passing
too hot, too long, too busy to face the work head on
tangling and wrapping through the night
every morning blooming
its glorious pure
pale taunting face
entwined to what in friendship has been given
twisted around generations of careful relocation
and tending
breaking
pulling apart
merciless
sweating
digging
bitten
soil up to the elbow
knees to the ground
willing to get dirty
willing eradication
seem to be the last resort
to eliminate and recreate
who would have thought
such good intentions
one single word
could almost bring to fisty cuffs
two grown men in public
"rototiller?"
proceeding to explain
hushed and whisked off before achieving what is needed
cultivating now?
men championing their wisdom and strength
front tine
rear tine
silent
fear of those bigger stronger louder
attacking together
manually laboring
at the end of the day
survived being cut away
six bags along the curb
wondering again
from where does it come
why not one door up or down
why here
after all the years of gardening
here
should we have done something sooner
or is it because of something we shouldn't have done
or
like the dolphin, the orange ball of sun, the cross on the street
the morning
it is given
and bears in its very name His glory
exhausting
taming
the glorious beast of morning
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