Exigency

Profusion of limbs and leaves as the gardener runs 
a hedge trimmer through the jasmine. He follows 
the porch contours—cutting away what obscures 
the view, leaving what climbs two pillars: what's 
allowed to reach toward the edge of the roof. 
There are no blooms, just this economy of green.
As if proliferation can be ordained, and every 
fragrance bottled as proof. Late summer's boiled 
syrup in the South, alternating with drenching rains. 
My body moves between these two frequencies, 
trying to intuit the measure of what still is possible 
amid the wildness of oceans and the deep sorrow 
of the earth, the glacier rush overcoming everything
in its path as if to remind us of who or what we 
would rush toward in the moment before all is lost.