I am the breath of butterfly wings.
I am the sun, hot on my thighs.
I am the song of the birds,
birds I can not even name.
The garden is not yet planted,
we’ve yet to clear piles of brambles
and make a little patch for daisies and marigolds,
for sunflowers who’s stalks will create
a trellis for trumpets of morning glory.
A small garden for my growing son to water
with a purposeful hose.
I am yellow flowers of summer,
a barking dog, and the breeze off of the bay.
I am now, and here, peaceful
among the butterflies and brambles.