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"Night on the El Train," by Edward Hopper
Garden of Grief
Listening to you
describe your garden
is like listening
to the thrumming wings of a hummingbird
arcing backward
or forward
whirring side-
to-side
whisper-droning a puff of air against my cheek
as you rocket past
to the bee balm
where you suddenly stop and hover in place, steadily
so you can eat the fire
flower by flower
Next, you linger
intent before the faded
damask rose
where no nectar
rewards your lapping tongue
and summoning your last day’s effort
you vault up to the power line
tiny on the perch
to sleep in jeweled torpor
plummeting
into dreams
of a different
garden
-Listen to a podcast of this poem here.
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