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.