Published 2020

Sunkissed | J Brooke

Picking up
the sticks that
linger on my lawn
lolling, loitering eventually
my hopeful grasses
my tender moss

Mistakenly I grab a root
deceptive in its diminuty
and tug an extra futile moment
before appropriately re-directed

Nature makes
simple such sorting:
designating dross,
beckoning agronomy

Outside the natural world
I tussle with the disparity
yanking when I should cultivate
germinating where I should expurgate

Unfailing laggard
when deciphering detritus
from burgeoning growth
I should think hard before leaving my yard