It's spring again. The garden knows it. From beneath,
green and purple
leaves, reaching up. Reaching out.

A winter vine climbs the fence. It
separates the boards.
Strong and woody, it goes where it pleases. In
all directions.

A Japanese lantern hangs on a steel hook. At night,
long
winter nights, it warms the garden. I am not like other

people. I watch them, for clues. A woman passes by

with two small dogs on a leash. She smiles. Why?   

I go to the door and look through the glass. On the fence,
at my eye
level, a black cat looks back at me. I open

the door, and the cat
vanishes in an arc over the fence.
A squirrel eats buds from a scrap
tree. A weed, aggressive,

but harmless in its own right, it feeds the
tree rats, the various
birds. I am chased by a monster. It's kill or be killed. I am so weak

I can
barely lift the hammer; the blow only cracks the monster's
bald skull.
Like an egg, cracking. This happens many times, many

iterations. I find
a green light and shine it on the monster. I sing it
a love song, and
it dies, finally, peacefully. Sitting very still, I hold

my aging cat against my aging breasts. We
both purr. With my
breath, we purr. I decide to allow deep pleasure back into my life.

A snow shovel stands against the
wall. Unused, unneeded, this
warm spring. Everything has a function. We
all do what we must.