Today was a maker’s day,
a dip in the Florentine pool,
a muse’s shower.
It all reeked of brief genius and
interminable failure (but still,
it’s kept me happy thus far).
Fulfillment is here in this garden,
of which I am the principle plant.
Time and energy, and terror and glee,
are the mixtured manures.
Love and hope, my twin suns.
And art is the photosynthesis,
Remember us, whisper the leaves
in their sleep.
I agree to disagree: forget us
until you need us.