a plan has no significance
determine what comes next
but determination is only a hand
to hold during walks in the snow

a garden trimmed and abundant
sits in the backyard surrounded
by fences. the begonias
underground thoughts rooted
and cling against the pull

picked as leftovers press
in the novel on the shelf
built in my heart. Open
pages marked for reminders

windshield wipers wave as
summer drowns in the rain
cardboard boxes steal clothes
to be forgotten by routine

hide them in the back of
picture frames behind the
glass of new grins

Open the gate of the garden
and hold on
to the zinnias