When I wake up so empty
I go out to the garden
pull back the sod
and lie down with my face to the sky.
If you ever come to water
I will open my mouth, my eyes,
to absorb it all, root deep
down in the earth.
I am more like the plant
that holds on to only one flower.
My pot would boil over
with too many blossoms.
The bloom’s off the rose, you say.
I have to agree.
Morning light shows
everything cut back
to a glistening stump.

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