Pollen on its leaves,
like paint spatters or stardust,
summer sunflower.

Hollyhock season,
stars at the center of each,
the dust for the bees.

The head of the bay,
every July flower blooms
morning, goodmorning.

My mother’s garden,
spring poppies and peony,
always irises.

I move them around
to follow the sun all day,
the winter flowers.

Alyssum and thyme,
I stopped tending that garden
when my life ran off.

My dear sunflower,
three vowels raise your round head,
bee on your face.

This last habitat—
we expected to flourish,
armature in place.

Rain on the foxglove,
on the koi’s orange heads, fins—
the June day swims by.

The pleasures of home,
January sun comes in—
everything wakes up.

Botanist's garden—
calendula, lavender,
nodding sunflower.