Clearing ground
Trimming red lantana I have neglected
reveals leaves long turned to mulch,
blackening the ground. I saw my father this morning,
the loss of weight, the empty gaze. Why did
I not visit earlier, catch this before?
With shears the length of my arms, I work past sunset.
I leave the task unfinished, the plant that flowers
as if it alone carries the work of beauty
now bared down to branches. This morning
my Dad struggled to express a single word.
Last summer, he and I spent three days
in the hills, hiking Nelder Grove among
giant sequoia, their red and spongy bark
conspicuously towering over so many living things.
Though not a miracle, it is at least a mystery,
how life wells from the ground. By the time earth
wheels into spring, lantana red
and yellow will draw bees, butterflies,
hummingbirds from their places seaming the sky.
