dizzy in the shrubbery

lost in the manicured park,
this maze of many

I've never
           been able to
figure out,

something about the clean lines.

weeds can't help being weeds.
I wanted to gather the clippings

into my arms
and say there had been
some mistake,

that they were needed after all.

come live in my yard, sweetheart.

the bees won't mind.