Maggie and Me in the Garden
The ground half-cleared, thorny shoots cut down
and withered bulbs pulled out. Maggie sees
that she and I are just like all of life.
I am old, I say, my skin wrinkled like the leaves,
and I am new! she laughs, a flash of joy in her eyes.
Something good about our hands digging deeply into earth,
pulling and longing, cutting and cleaning;
everything seems to be singing
and we are the song.