My Keyhole Garden
The end of concrete sits the Petunias,
a lavender petal points to the left
from Maple freshly planted as a gift,
an African type keyhole garden lies.
The middle there to catch daily compost
with elevation provided by log.
A head of cabbage holds a gentle frog,
A juicy tomato like from the coast.
A redistribution of our water,
from a brown desiccated artichoke,
within chicken wire covered with our waste.
So placed like an ancient lotus flower
whose color, leached into the soil, awoke
in desert, green. Seems oddly out of place.