(A poem from the Garden)

I am not aware of everything here.

Only the smallest faction.

This little corner of earth

Turned over in the garden.

And yet

I am aware of the smallest changes.

A bird caught in a brambles.

My son getting gloves.

Holds its terrified body trembles.

While we cut away the snares.

So it can find it’s wings

Find flight.

And a chance to fight.