the old woman I
saw was the caretaker of the
garden of ******* and i had come at
peak season.
back of a lonely metal
gate in water-town they
pulsed up from a circle of
eggshells smooth and imported
soil fine grounds of
woman.
i felt with my eyes
cranberries my tongue
red.
our caretaker feeds eyelash and
honeycomb i see my face in its sticky
reflection i
drip and wet
velvet garden unfolds to my touch of
early summer