From “Last Summer
in the Garden”


I am remembering how I used to wake in the mornings and step out
Into my backyard, coffee cup in hand. I am remembering how
I would wander around in a sleepy stupor, the cool of the morning grass
On my bare feet, the awe of the new day making me forget about
The word exile. I keep dreaming the desert willow, the sweet acacia,
The honey mesquite, the purple sage, the cow’s tongue cactus that had
Become as tall as a tree.

People on couch
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