This entry is part 1 of 19 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2015


My love came into the garden
when I was not looking.

All that was fallen
and forsaken, tattered,

used up, shriven—
pushed against the hard

beds no hands
all season had made

or tended, furrowed,
seeded, fruited.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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