|At dawn I rise, break apart clumps
of earth, return occasionally
to the house for cold water,
a small hoe over my shoulder.
I plant orange and red annuals
below the shadow line: impatiens
flourish there where weeds are sparse.
All day, into late afternoon, I plant
until evening dew moistens a narrow
path; so what if my clothes are damp?
I drink wine by a white fence in yellow dusk;
dark fragrances fill my sleeves,
make me spin; yet like the multi-colored
flowers I plant, I choose not to avoid
anything from which nature might come.