After the Hail
for Pep, 24 years later
The apple tree died while I
was gone, its bark stripped
and fallen back to the pot,
the largest one on the terrace.
Stark, nobby branches choked
by equally dead morning glory
tendrils hold sacs of seeds
stiffly in the April wind.
Both dead things remain
to train the thick nasturtium
stalks with their wealth
of perpetual sunset.
Opposite, the barely salvaged
pine tree pushes its newborn
needles towards the sun. They
follow east to south to west.
Among all the dead branches
in sunburned pots bursting
with wild garlic, clover, asparagus,
the surprise of this tall purple iris.
🐍🌹📚
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