Unfazed by cold nights,
marigolds in October
grow like there’s no end.

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

The August feeling.
almost imperceptible,
changing and fading.

Bindweed at the edge
of the warm, bursting garden,
wet with all-day rain.

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.

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

We steal a few seeds
the day before her birthday—
my mother and me.

The sunflower bed—
like other ends of summer,
birds singing at dusk.