The Winter Garden

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Katy Rawdon

The Winter Garden


      I slipped too soon into winter’s cocoon this year.
      In other words, the dried and wilted slough
      of summer still juts through the garden, here
      the flayed fruit’s stalk, there the sepal’s ruff.

      I’ve been remiss, completely derelict.
      The lingering thyme pokes through the snow to scold.
      What’s desire anyway but what’s unpicked?
      I’m too long dreaming to harvest dreams gone cold.