I wait for rain to wet the ground
to edge my yard with bricks
to block the weeds from blooms,
blood root, blue star, toad shade
doll’s eyes, black hay, and blue phlox,
rain to water the plants I want,
not the seeds that love to taunt
my lamb’s cress, tall rue, sweet flag,
blue fox sedge, lady-by-the lake,
love in a puff, bee balm. Then I’ll sit
on a stump in shade of swamp oak, 
hear wrens chirp, see moths dart, 
watch leaves dance in a green world.
But now the ground is hard to spade,
the quest far off, the bricks not laid,
the path to edge lush with weeds
who seize the light and strew their seeds.