First blossom today, taking center court as it

floats over the cosmic, kaleidoscopic carp,

announcing that all is not lost: the great flame

of summer, lights this lily’s blushing cup.

His toil was not for nothing – I must tell him that.

The maple, mondo, and sumac each sway and retract,

reflecting the moves of his craft and his burden.

Tonight, I am a witness to this lavish

scene of a broken heart bending.

When I cannot love, he loves the dirt instead.

Greedy brown birds gorge on unripe Rainiers

while I light a cigarette, toast the fans

of the smoke tree, and say “We are smoking!”

But no one hears; is here.

Maybe all great gardens are born from such near misses.