I show up,
waiting for you
to show up.
Waiting for
that brilliance
to waft through
the garden air,
redolent with
greenery and
flying things.

I have learned,
with time,
not to expect
anything, but
to extend the
just the same.

A petal falls
from a rose
that is fading
in the heat. I am
a solitary witness.
And still I wait.

A chipmunk
rests on a fence
and this is
a first for me,
as I have never
actually seen
a chipmunk
rest anywhere,
at any time,
for any reason.

A mosquito
happily fastens
itself to my neck.
When the breeze
shifts slightly, he
finds his way
to another
reluctant host.

I sip my tea.
It’s not bad,
but I should have
picked a different
flavor. It will take
a month to finish
an entire box of it
and that’s
a lot of trips
to the garden,
looking as usual
for you
to alight upon
my sleeve like a
metallic blue beetle,
odd in its beauty
and beautiful
in its oddness,
goading me on
to include it somehow
in whatever comes next,
what falls to paper.

Claire Juno, © 2013