we have almost finished our time here. the drear— rain and fog and general slate- gray-ness of it all—is past having gotten to me.
You will plant fennel & dill in sleeves of concrete & soil; onions & garlic in wormy pockets packed with straw. When cherry blossoms
Over the dark cutouts of hills, the stars are changing their light. One summer I climbed up and learned all their names. I want