Garden

I wish a garden grew behind my home, I will go to it now
To wet warm grass, and sun-burnt bark, cold stones dipped in clay
To flying dirt and toasty burrows of sixteen rabbits, furry shadows
Grasshopper-bent blades bob to the quick heartbeat of May

In tight friendly rows I'll raise blood-blushing tomatoes
Brushing against my elbow would be a hair of dill
At night when I'm not here, leaves re-scent, green bodies grow
Mint, oregano, tangled tarragon, unblinking blooms of chamomile

And all will be a picture, even one mushy apple rotten,
Half-bodied in soil, the innards spoiled and skin unbroken
Except one eye ogling the sky, a festered hole worm-eaten,
A sugary stink, nose-tickling, risen when it my free foot steps on.