Color splashed along the rotted
floorboards of the old porch
as if the coleus plants were
abandoned, left to navigate
on their own, vining instead of bushing
traveling a splintered road.

The plants were huge in an array of
pots of ancient clay and porecelain charm,
some on tall iron plant stands, multi-colored
leaves draped down and curved along the
boards, stems covered, splatter of
raspberry reds, plum purples, lime greens.

The old nun came out in early morning
before Lauds the first liturgical hour and
communal breakfast,
to water and gently removed wilted leaves
that matched her aged hands, her 
feet floating above the carpet of leaves.

She shuffled along the edge, like walking on
water, aluminum pitcher in hand,
dripping sustenance, each plant blessed
humble gesture of grace enshrined
a small piece of heaven.