There is a plot of land near my home which once housed an abundance of flora and fauna.

Turtles, birds, rabbits, snakes, wild dogfennel, pines, periwinkles, alamandas and southern river sage thrived in this space which now boasts only an open plot of beige mounds, cement cylinders, and monstrous machines.

I grimace at its "progress" daily.

Across the street, a large patch of wildflowers sit up and gaze upon this scene.

Day after day,
Erupting from the blue-eyed grass,
A family of spanish needle
and Mexican petunias
turn their blooms toward the beeping and the clunking of machines.

White peacock butterflies and red-tipped dragonflies dance around the feeding bees. I'd like to be like the flowers. To bloom rebelliously in the face of greed and destruction. Even though soon, they will be gone too.

He's tending the garden.
Earth on his hands
Sweat on his neck.
Sprinkling seeds
From freshly spent flowers.
I can't see his eyes behind his Ray Bans
But I know they're focused, delighted
Observing the occupants and visitors
In his cultivated oasis.
To keep the garden nurtured,
protected,
is critical.
He worries when the storms roll in.
How will they fare?
But he does what he can.
He rids the area of weeds
And cares for slender stems.
It's a promise kept
To tend and till.

In the garden he's a father too.

I am the howling wind
I am the cold mist kissing your skin
I am leaves and branches dancing
I am swollen waves and sideways rain
I am black sky
I am the storm.

To stare at a bowl of fruit

To become intimately aware of a pear's curves,
The pores of a lemon peel.
The velvet of a peach.
To meditate for hours on the shadows of grapes.
I long to stare at a bowl of fruit.
To hear nothing but wind and paint strokes.

Glittering only for a moment
Like the lip of a wave in the sun
Surrendering its light
Everlasting
Ever flowing
Eternal

It seems easy for you
to shut off
your affections for me.
Of this, I am envious.
My love is a strong current
Uncontained
in the wild river of my being
Slamming into rocks and timber
without mercy.

Attempts to build dams in this stream
fail miserably
when its roaring waters tear through them
like paper.