The temperature soars 

and I’ve so much work to do.

The home ground shifts before my eyes.

Stones are melting and purslane is taking 

my garden, edible but frightening, too,

for the bugs are eating everything 

as first leaves emerge, except the purslane. 

Nothing usual works. If I resort to seven dust,

it’ll feel like defeat. I don’t want defeat,

I want green plants in my garden. 

I need fruits and vegetables

like I need hills and rivers. 

I want wild and tame, 

together.