Garden (10-22-2001)

The soil knows me by hand,

by heart,

through plants breathing, and whispering to the earth,

and flowers who feel the touch of my nose.

The garden knows the pad of my feet,

my visits along worn paths and

soft clover.

My life blood is in this sanctuary.

Every bit of flitting butterflies, bouncing birds,

and busy bugs know this Eden,

feeling the love in the place, the safety,

and hearing strange whispers to stay.