Garden Door on Aviles Street

You wouldn’t think,

What with the nicely potted flowers

That flank the stained wooden garden door,

And, what with the bold golden colors

Of the distressed garden wall,

No, you wouldn’t think

That the single, bare, and unassuming branch

Visible through the barred window

Would maintain such a grip on my attention.

Impasse

Squirrel eyeing me on deck,

Shifts gaze to baguette chunks below –

Matter of great import

Birdbath freshly filled
Winged-guest sips in mind --
Tabled-window watching

The most visible setting in Autumn’s garden,

Milkweed stretches as high as an eye,

With nectar filled goblets to entice passing monarchs,

And ripe virgin leaves to feed royal issue.

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It is easier, I think, to argue for the existence of God while standing in a well-tended garden.