• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 12
Image by

My Gardening

is mostly in my head.
I water shrubs and tiny filaments,
cut back wilderness thoughts,
plant fragrances to inhale
when it is their season.

Some weeds luxuriate, glorious
it is grief to cut them down.
I garden more in my head
when I am at work.

I cannot risk a lack of focus,
so prune without regret,
stifle unwanted colours,
curtail wanders into wildness.

When I retire these wanders
may multiply so that grandbairns
ask "Where were you?"
as I clamber back from reverie.

My wife says I spend too long
in reverie already when there
is neglected garden outside,
"Buck your ideas up!" she says,

so I tend to both, a little snip here
a little snip there, rearrange imagination
over a welcome cup of tea and contemplate
work yet to be done.