He
humbled himself:
knelt his desire at the foot of his flower's bed
like a penitent sinner. He
saw her
overwhelmed with green, and understood
her hard earth would soften by offering a little water.
Stretched across her wooden frame, using bare-skinned hands,
he skillfully removed each weed suffocating his garden.
Between fore-finger-and-thumb tips he caressed each hole
carved into her withering leaves, and determined in his heart
to exterminate the devouring creatures.
He remembered to turn the soil.
At the side, he unwound the hose attached to the house
and unstopped the faucet–
water-consumed-drought-jumping-inside-her-dark-belly
resurrecting roots giving up the ghost.
Exhausted and dewed, he rested...
Many nights he communed beneath the stars,
savoring tuberose, honeysuckle, moonflower and cereus...
... and was satisfied.
