"Caretaker"

This garden
where I prune my wild love of you
is just a plot
that I cleared out
of wilderness within myself.
I found it hot and overgrown
with undergrowth, set fire to it
with my own hand,

then planted fruiting vines that died.
They can't abide the canopies, regrown
so thick with birds all eating leaves
and spreading wings to shade beneath,
remaining deeply undisturbed,
as I am not.

For all my plans lie now unmade.
I cannot understand, so I let
nature claim its course again.
I only weed what's poisonous;
whatever's left

is only yours.
Come see.
Give me your hand.
Together, I'll explain
what I've been doing here. Or maybe
I'll just say that I forgot.
For you, my dear