1.

Galvanized troughs
for shadow horses 

cowlicked grass in wind 
A leaf-veined  garden

solitude Walk with me 
We’ll fill beds 

with soil I’ll show you 
a life the grail and casket 

Beasts drink a compost 
of days seeds grow 

into bloom and fade 
These— the chapters

2.

Blurred in the birth bed—
mint lavender cornflower 

blue Herb indistinct 
from color Chive sprouts 

through hoarfrost perennial 
even in the coldest 

regions of exhale 
Like the shadow horse 

I colic in the crib 
cry for mother 

any woman who will lift 
Cradled in squash flower  

reaching for ration 
I self-soothe 

with mobiles Mysterious 
cardinals and moons

3.

Fingers lift through soil
pink worm twined between

choked wax beans 
clover and crabgrass 

Pull— I’ll show you 
the rising child

his observation 
that he’s the odd thinker 

You can touch separation

from mother the paw of boyhood 
muddied torn from legume 

4.

Look closely— 
there’s no difference

between the body and the blade 
Sparkler put out 

on the adolescent back
Bone growing too fast 

muscles Charlie-
horsed to unfamiliar form 

Hormone swollen tits 
cherry tomato sweet 

tufts of corn-silk 
angel hair pheromone 

of marigold pleasing to 
the eager sniff of men 

5.

Skin in calloused hands furry 
leaves of sage such power 

in the purple of adored 
Pendulous bulb heavy 

in the grip Mounded 
earth Can you feel it? 

Onion inflorescence 
tang of tongue beneath a lifted

arm The boy is now 
sown man an open seed

Anther ovary stigma 
of pink kiss 

sweat breaking into male

6.

Pumpkin vine delivers 
heads of newborn sons 

overflows raised beds 
to trail across a clover 

blanket I cultivate 
a lineage carry 

an eagle claw trowel 
I will not hear No 

from those who can’t speak 
father and queer

in one breath Why is joy cradled 
in fear fertilized by rage? 

I bare teeth 
to the mouth of an eclipsed sun

7.

Breathe into this harvest 
We can share a crown 

of rosemary the name 
of father’s final

lover Who have you lost? 
After mother I wear a hood 

of basil the scent of female 
fingers I wear blooms 

that die in June for lack 
of water It’s December 

The season of empty 
tomato cages light draining 

like water through a frozen hose 
Remember

in this plot we’re not alone—thyme 
and innocence that chive defying frost