work’s end
 
full fathom does an old ivy deviantly root
no spade no foot no pull hope
 
it stays and then a slimy precipitation
too high a high pressure
 
a constant damp palpitation of the growths
the garden hosts the all mannered
 
wherein therefore may I toast
an end to that which cannot be destroyed
 
a cloying dependency
joy in the foxglove about to shoot
 
and a newly planted rose a'drooped
but stood
 
there are hollows cleverly bevelled
and sods packed back
 
offspring are of flesh yet
and seeds supplanted, much supplanted
 
by the thighs’ heaving
which, dark now, and dry, yes, yes
 
must be blessed