Backyard
In my backyard, as the bower, the grotto, it should be,
I range through my lands, employing hidden hahas;
a gentle rise reveals vast panoramas, distant mists, grazing llamas.
I place copies of your photograph whenever I plant
to guarantee vast harvests of fruits and vegetables,
leaves, runners, vines cascading over the sides of the raised beds
and flowing through the garden, and the miniature trees
have somehow become as sequoias and redwoods;
At ground level I find it convenient to grow my own coffee beans,
orange bushes, herbs for …
