Amok.

Larkspur seeded next door seven years gone. Seeds saved six. Seeds sown five years ago. On their own hence.

I’ll hope to snag a few in a few weeks

To bring them back “home.”

Next door to where they first laid down

Before oft they went to roam.

Our mystery has bloomed. A mystery, to me, it remains.

This pollinator of the “tree” of perpetual chard (taller than me!) See?

Turn and look down the birds’ sunflower path.

The radish seeds bulge bigger than the broccoli.

And just as I crouched down to capture the half of society, this little flutterby appeared and perched so perfectly.

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Kumquat

Five years hence, I felt a swell of joy. Anticipation. Amplification.

Five weeks in, cessation.

Five weeks more, awareness.

Five weeks further, separation.

I gathered seeds that weekend, to memorialize.

I’ve sown them each memorial weekend since.

They, as their motive, didn’t take.

Until now.

I still, mostly, don’t say.

I still, mostly, can’t stand.

So I still, mostly, let sway.