january leaves and spring love - poetry collection

old growth

Rough rugged hands, weathered with wisdom and age, fingernails caked in dirt,

Diving deeper into the burro tail succulent on the table.

Her garden, like the dizzying hills of sand deep in the Arizona desert, is lush with cacti.

If only i knew her secret, how she breathes life into her plants––that i always kill.

Her eyes waver from her work for the first time,

Landing on me as i sit across the table,

"You just need more time".