Monday, June 2, 2008
Transplanting
Deep art. Sure. I leave my poem on the lawn, sink my trowel into the soil. From one pot to the next. In goes the basil. Two varieties. In goes the parsley. The savory. The sage. A purple finch sings in the poplar above while I'm pressing down the dirt. Sings a bit too sweetly. I imagine it has no choice. It's evening. That's what comes out.
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1 comment:
I'll see your varieties of basil and your parsley and raise you garlic chives and a marjoram. I'm heading out that way (but the day seems cold so far) to write my transplanting piece.
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