Poem Shards

  Those other poems
  from weeks ago
    with such hope
  give me a good prohecy
     to make me alight
   towards a higher goal:
        that which is real
    and does not ever end.

   And I basked in the glow of the optimism
    never fearing that it was all just me
             over-doing it.
  The tree it grew
     like a weed in the Spring,
  that kind of affection
     dares not clip the bud for fear of 
                        killing the plant.

  But the gardener clips the bud.
   Clip off that end to make many new buds 
                               from the one.
   See how the plant is crowned 
                         in glorious bloom?
  Was the architect of this
    the aphid or the ant?
   Was there a knowing gardener
    clipping the end of the new growth?

  With the rain
     came the flood
   and it rain down the driveway
  and through the newly planted garden.
 
   Those hearty plants clung in
    and then, drenched, gave great bloom
       in the following week.
    Such a harvast had never been seen before.
  Such great joy when the festival time arrived.

  And all the guys and their wives and kids
   came up that hill on a Saturday in September
    and feasted from the fruits of that garden.

      from poem page 107