Without the sun, these baby beans and winter squash
Vines cannot outrun even baited slugs.
Ravenous robins, myopic in the rain,
Snip stems, guzzle hard-working worms.
So much work for naught, so far at least.
Remembering planters’s patience is hard.
In a garden, stasis is close to death:
I watch my aloe die for unrequited sun love.
I beg the Tribal Council man from up the street
For a Sun Dance.
Even he has none.
So you and I, My Love, will have to do:
Tonight we take our light and heat
Out to the garden, let it feed the growth
That late in harvest season will feed us.