in the style of Anis Mogjani
spend long enough in
the garden and you will shake loose
the worry for dirt
it is possible to be clean and caked
in soil
possible to be weed
and needed
possible to feel
at home in the pink sting
of your peeling neck
and the forgiveness rolling off the water
this ambivalent heart will tell you
the pull is as real as the falter,
to fail forward is still a path
& the parade to your sorrow is on the same street
as the burning tower, the red panic,
the ladders climbing to rescue your joy.
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