I have a tendency to try to fix
whatever is beyond repair

whether it is a broken heart
or forgotten promise
or the brown patch in meadow grass

or the gouge a river makes
changing patterns and shapes
like a body getting older
and both surrendering
to downstream sag

I’m composing in the garden
where the fence is musical stanzas
with time measures

all this preparation
for the orchestra of vegetables
and trumpets of daffodils

allegros of rain
bring light touches
hardly disturbing the air

a thousand tragedies occur every second
I cannot change any loss

recovery must find its own way
every word leaping off by itself
fill all the cracks
be handled with the same care
as practicing music
or re-setting a broken arm
or saying
forgive me
planting messages in the ground
to be unearthed later