Yesterday was good enough.
I got all my seedling metaphors planted:
Runners, broad, magic and mangetout.
Last week and month I’ve been preparing,
Potting, placing in the light
And giving enough water to propagate green shoots.
The earth is turned and cleared of green
And yellow anarchists before they flower
And a pile of any stones bigger than the circle of finger and thumb.
The delicate ideas I placed at the base
Of geometric bamboo forms, some in cardboard tubes
I’ve been collecting like it’s Play School.
And as I put away the trowel,
Fork and spade and rake and dirty
Gloves, upon my face, the given grace of rain.
Supping on the darkening,
Letting go of how this will bear meaning,
I breathe. Tomorrow will be good enough.