Cli·ché

We garden together, He and I,
Uprooting rocks, chiseling Fuchsia,

We,
Argue a lot, and;

Framing roses in golden, morning light or a
Flaming red sunset,

Helps cool raging fires.

Birds join us when we are not too loud,
Sipping iridescent water from clay pots,

Serenading nectar onto rhamphothecae;

We squash fat slugs accidentally,
And bitterness.