it’s spring again and the plum blossom is dropping messy metaphors all over my walk.
I am at least a year older than I was this time last year and possibly more.
my indulgences are earth, now
time spent away from my desk
time spent more answering
time spent more like fountain coins than like water bills.
there were water barrels here before us. I should empty them and clean them. I should save up for a hose. I should, should, should.
and the beans don’t care. the plum trees don’t care if their water comes from cloud
or from milk bottles
or from a hose.
from the top or the bottom of the water barrel.
what would i have done last year? bought a hose. last year, someone else’s land, when money like plum blossom dropped messily over everything
and turning, on land I never owned,
back to earth.
hooks for 