In the Garden While I Sleep

Circling,
I make my way around my garden,
now enshrouded in
Endymion's arms.
I look down on my gladiolus,
eyes open
and admiring,
while the weathered yellow
of the summer heat
bleeds up into the petals.
It does not complain,
for what would it ask?
My fingers are rough
and the sun has done its job
in draining away my sleep.

Oh, Selene,
you and I are not too far from another.
Perhaps I could entreat you
to ask Zeus for
another favor.

We are friends during this time,
are we not?
You can tell me your secrets
while the ground's
heat seeks the stone
and the soil
becomes a cool glove.
I'll be here,
listening in the garden
awaiting Zeus's answer
among
my gladiolus.

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