Plaster blooms above the bed,
a constellation of flowers
from the scrabbled bushes out front.
And in the living room–a window big
as a daydream and twice as dirty:
refracting spider webs in a trender neglect.

The refrigerator thrums dust through the floorboards.
Outside, a hoisted-up neighbor downshifts
his too-big truck, a groan
Of brakes and the smell of diesel.

This is the garden I know:
This bed of quiet
listening.

LexPoMo friends, it’s always such a pleasure to read your work and comment with you. I look forward to this chance to write. I’ll be rereading your poems and look forward to seeing you again, hopefully sooner than LexPoMo 2026!