Gentle, kingly gardener
folded me, posted a photograph
of your sprouting broccoli by side of
a new painting.
I remember dear
painting pastel shades
onto wooden panels, with you.
We drank ale on the hottest day
making these signs for
each plant of your intimate congregation.
Peas, beans
broccoli,
chard, spinach,
chinese leaves?
I cannot recall more, but
bleeding happiness
long into a green smoked twilight
laying on our backs
wet grass feet
starred in dark air.
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