By Karen Silk

Come with me into the garden

see especially the peony buds

where tiny ants crawl,

an opening.

And over here the feathery nepeta

attracts butterflies and bees.

Earlier, crows everywhere.

I wonder about the lives of crows

how their intelligent, ambitious hearts

get them into paintings, novels

and poems, even the garden 

at Howards End, calling from 

the gate post to other crows

close by in fields.

Think about the care and thought 

it takes to make a garden,

about how knowing there are cool

pastures of grass and glade beyond

gives added sweetness to the bright

scent of a summer morning.

How the coyote prowling 

the meadow with its fierce dream

can will the heart to move.

Who does not remember the first garden. 
In the beginning, Eve, 

completely comfortable, stands naked

beside Adam enjoying the shade

of the considerable apple tree.  

They are innocent, unafraid, about 

to understand shame, what I 

sometimes feel when I cannot let

my mind run wild, knowing I am the bee, the butterfly, 

that I am the ant,

the blossoming.