Merton said.
I steal his words and put them to work in my life as
into the yard I step from the fog-damp doorway
peek as I must into the almost-dawn morning
birds I know no names for singing harmonized tunes awakening tufts
of grass and delicate spindles of garden growth I touch these
miracles popping from the fresh soil while
carrying my shears
snip go the dead branches and spent roses
Into my morning kitchen I return with the scent
early summer humid breeze rapt with raspberry redness and strawberry sweetness
and peony perfume on my fingertips
damp strands of hair upon my cheek.