working dirt, like it is easy
container garden on a balcony
planting so soon
to the tune of "No Frost Tonight"

except in the reception

of the signal of working
with dirt, nothing more
wholesome to measure
worth, there's only room
for one in the ***, me
or the dirt,

the perfect camoflage
to lay about the outdoor spaces
hiding in the open, hoping
what is buried there
is all of the past
and its many faces