flower spies me through its periscope after bumblebee abandons. i lay upon the grass mattress smell the diatomaceous earth being tilled beneath by worms in cordial, unfazed shifts.
didn't I place that greenery there? predetermined what its width and breadth would be in accordance with the grave I dug for roots to go in,
imagined i could control the seasons, boasted special fertilizer and city water would subjugate the plant from dying, then took for granted that it would thrive with absolutely no attention just the same as I do.