Her, and her head, and her garden

The winter is breaking

this February being a little less

cold, more circumspect

than the year before last

while she breeds midnight roses

in her avant-garde garden

with magnolias, cacti, and silver stilletoes

ankle deep in the moist mud

reminding her

never to set another light foot in the world.

She also makes

papier-mache haikus

and beach towels

they are not for sale

for she is keeping touch

with the current dispensation

floating anonymously amongst the lionesses

and keeping her head about

penning pithy poems.

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