To see them bursting above cages
Waving Jurassic squash fronds,
Who would know

That I left them, hunkered on stone
Squatting between the SUV, muddy,
and weight set, dusty,

Snow beating the panes,
Holding ice at bay
In the late May twilight?

Truth be told,
Their abundance is on the composted
Souls of their cousins;

Basil, sage, zucchini,
Dead under rooted toes
Nourishing verdant heights, their

Fragile stalks too soft
From garage to garden
Bent under elements

That basil?
A box store kin
Ushered in at twilight.

Green goldfish
“I guess he grew, honey.”
Green thumb. Green lies.

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