if i had any rage i took it out on the lily bed
and its web of ingrown roots
the fruit of thirty years of spawning tigers
i scythed and hoed, slicing through sod
separating innumerable worms from their other ends
and cleaving through the rusty orange roots that choked the ground
until, at last, the spread of green leaves was cast off
exposing dark soil to the lowering sun
as the sky grew blue with twilight
a lone goose flew by beyond my sight
its melancholy honk ringing through the stillness
