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The Garden of Your Body

You say it’s a whisper of garden
compared to the old one you loved

an angle of juiced lawn frowning
as you announce it too small

mere echo of what was
like your body these days, you say

eyes deep
in the shallows and hedges

I climb into your landscapes
catch zinnia whirring planets

red asteroids of peony lifting heads
delicate moons dripping leaves golden

grass a soft whisper, hold on
to hills and valleys

watch, as they fill again
as sunshine follows rain