While I am tending to my garden
I cast an embracing glance over at you
You tend to your affairs, I tend to mine
We both work in silence, side by side
The dirt digs into your fingernails
And you have specks of mud on your cheek.

I tend to this garden, I dig into the roots
I lose sight of you sometimes, the afternoon sun is hot
And the vague radiance casts mirages
The shadows are unreal, the heat is feeble and lazy.

Everything coalesces into one when you ask
If I have a minute to spare so we can
Talk about the weather
And last night's Seinfeld episode
I should probably get back to my garden, I have to dig out the weeds.