Impatience is at the
root of me, plants
systems throughout
this body and into
bone, and sends out
her leaves, her fruit
into spaces my
analytical self
runs up, down and
through

Yet the Gardener
comes to visit me,
At early dawn, at late dusk,
To care for this aging
greenery, talks, murmurs
up through His lusty throat
pure provoking waters
and weeds away
Impatience from
my bones.