In blow the winds of change
and up grows multiplicity -
marigold, rose, and rhododendron.
Making choices between
markets, gardens, and Marian grottos.
Wondering which path to take
when illness overtakes me
and ivy encircles my feet.
Counting down these days
and sorting through the sordid hours.
It's a mitosis of time to be
Splitting seconds, stitching up situations,
and unraveling the fabric of
all these moments sewn together -
To fashion a garment,
a cloak of fate and freedom.
Caressing these leaves like lovers
and picking off petals
one by one, while wondering
"What have I wrought by my own hands?
And what has been brought up on me?
What hedges me in?
What holds me back?
And what holds me safely?"
Wrangling with the ways I'm entangled
rather than wringing my hands.
Cutting through cords of what's not mine
and double-knotting the ties that bind me best.
Stepping forward blindfolded in this game of infinite jest.