Fertile Ground

The rose garden houses
the potential for roses
and sometimes their smell

We sit on the sunny bench
as roses sprout buds around us
pondering sicker inner growth

Keeping our distance
close enough to hold
body and soul together
in the April breeze

I too was young
I carried my criticisms like a kite
ready to fly

Now I backpedal a unicycle
arms crucified on balance-pole wings
strung across the sacred valley
between coffee and comprehension

where roses lie like houses
and you wonder whether to die
or to give birth