LETTING THE GARDEN GROW WILD
By Michael Hogan
is something we do in alternate years:
bougainvillea branching up over the roof
violet and orange bracts falling in a carpet
from the back door to the far retaining wall.
Morning glories curling up the smooth bark of the plane tree
and the mango so heavy with new fruit
its branches sweep the ground like a green broom.
Always roses: pink and white and yellow
defying this year the leaf-cutter ants
as we defy years
which love to carve their inexorable scrimshaw across our cheeks
and dim our eyes in the late afternoon
so that we close them finally and drift
(our paperbacks forgotten in our hands)
to the sound of doves echoing in the dusk
as tendrils of white honeysuckle sweeten the air.