In My Garden

In my garden moves life.
A garden snake, pink and pencil thin,
skims across gravel, shimmering
as it flows. One touch of my
finger sends it skating slinky style
into a nest under the antique roses.

In my garden dwells peace.
Roses pursue self-actualization,
nodding budded heads in agreement
with the wind. They bloom
hot and pale pink, luminous with
red veins, each one uniquely imperfect.
A spider nestles in one exuberant bloom,
betrayed by two spindly legs.

In my garden flows energy.
Bees murmur about their tasks as
they hover and dash, hover and dash.
Red ants, audacious in adventure,
climb the stone wall foothills to the
mountain of my body, seeking the summit.
They rest on the flat plain of my
notebook and I, godlike, teach them
to fly with the flick of two fingers.
Undaunted, they begin again.

Sheer instinct, the drive to live,
to move, vibrates quietly in my garden.
In my garden I thrive.