St. Anthony’s Garden

St. Anthony’s garden—

behind the gate,

candles,

coins.

A floodlight

casting the statue—

heart lit—

onto the cathedral wall.

I stand there,

looking—

as if

something might return.

First Frost

Watching the forecast

each night.

Trying to push the season

one more day.

First frost warning—

and the migration begins.

Windowsills filling

one careful armload

at a time.

The rest

wintering

in borrowed glass—

a long metal table

of desert plants

in a greenhouse of tropics.

Guests stop

to admire—

asking the price—

not for sale.