Allan Lake

Minutes from a Garden

Small beetle’s back becoming neon in afternoon sun. Ants, buzzing fly, busy spider aims to connect my wobbly bench to clay pot of straggly geraniums. Good luck, ambitious one; I had projects. Everything on the clothesline animated by shy breeze and this warm sun between cloudy, wet days, not far from gravelly beach, where my life has settled.

Birds flirt, warn, build, betray— speak out about me and well-fed cats that would silence their chatter. Motionless, I’m here, not opposed to any of this, no longer restless to fly elsewhere but to collect clothes that I’ve been staring through while waiting for them to dry.

ANDREAS GRIPP