To start with breakfast
and the waking birds
that listen to muttered,
inane, and fading

Let the dew know
its purpose and greet
stranded green
again and again

A hoarse cry across
the way gives hanging
blossom an urge to fall
but it merely rolls eyes

Hidden to a gaping door
and bulging with weeds
the light makes a play;
a firing pistol to recede

Fenced away, these baubles
babble and clang.
I dine to new days
at the end of this garden.