Here on Tonawanda Street, the drunk mechanic’s wife is launching rafts of pansies. In other yards, tulips’ scarlet and gold, azalea’s coral bursts, columbine,
The day you leave for a trip on which you’ll drive treacherous mountain roads alone for hours, I rehearse losing you, absurd gesture, useless
The August lilies flower, the butterfly bushes, the rain-bowed tree hydrangea. The garden’s my challenge this morning. To see life steadily and see it
